


I know my own heart: Femslash February 2021 Collection

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Aromantic, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Disabled Aziraphale (Good Omens), Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), Eden - Freeform, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), First Time, Future Fic, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), IN SPACE!, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Injury Recovery, Lesbians in Space, Lingerie, Other, Past Abuse, Trans Crowley (Good Omens), aro-ace relationship, crowley's transitional form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 28,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29133372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: All of my stories written for the Femslash February  prompts.Tags will be updated as stories are added, and ratings, content warnings, the universe in which it's set and anything else chapter-specific will appear in that chapter's Notes section.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 108
Kudos: 75
Collections: Ineffable Wives Femslash February 2021





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the collection!
> 
> The title comes from one of Anne Lister's diary entries, and seemed appropriate, especially to this collection. And because I remember when you basically had to write a gay panic scene (or scenes) for it to be considered realistic, and now...there isn't really that anymore, and it's lovely.
> 
> Notes for Chapter 1:   
> \- rated explicit  
> \- some accidental/innocent voyeurism  
> \- canon-verse (broadly :) )
> 
> We begin, of course, in a garden --

“Oh!”

“Gosh.”

“Is she...?”

“No, no, she's enjoying it, Crawly, I promise.”

“ _Ooooh_.”

This last said together as they watched the inevitable outcome of, well. Human nature, or a part of it. 

Millennia later, they would be a little ashamed of their actions; it was quite rude to watch without an invitation, of course, but invitations hadn't been invented yet, nor good manners around sex. So it was that an innocent angel and demon sat in a tree and watched humans...be human.

“I wonder if we can do that?” Crawly mused later on. She and Aziraphale were lounging under the tree by then, enjoying the cool of the evening. Aziraphale was nibbling on a pomegranate, and the arils were staining her lips a pretty red colour. Crawly wondered if she'd taste like pomegranate, actually.

“I don't see why not,” Aziraphale said after a moment's though. “I can have a sex if I want, after all. Can't you?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Crawly paused a moment, remembering what Eve had looked like. “Done.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Let me see!”

Crawly hiked her robes up a bit and spread her legs, proudly showing off what she'd made herself. “I think it's quite nice, actually.”

“It's beautiful!” Aziraphale agreed. She thought, vaguely, that one probably didn't call one's mortal enemy's sex beautiful, but, well. They were already...friends, of a sort. Companions, anyway. They spent most days together watching Adam and Eve, and of course keeping an eye on the Enemy, to make sure no one was getting up to no good. (Or getting up to good, in Aziraphale's case.)

Crawly looked down at herself, admiring her vulva. It was her first sex organ, after all, and she was  _very_ pleased with it.

Curious, Aziraphale reached out to touch, running her fingertip up the centre crease, to rest lightly on the shy little clitoris, just visible.

Crawly started and moaned, and Aziraphale jumped so hard she fell back.

“I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“ _No_ ,” Crawly said. “Mmm, that felt nice. Do it again?”

Aziraphale giggled and touched her fingertip to Crawly clit first, then trailed down, dipping into her up to her first knuckle, then the second, before easing her finger out again, and going back to tracing the lines of labia, returning again and again to Crawly's clitoris until she moaned and shuddered, just like Eve had done.

“Ooooh, angel,” Crawly mumbled, for she'd long ago fallen onto her back and was gazing up at Aziraphale, sloe-eyed and sweet. “That was wonderful.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Good. Do me, now.” And she lay back against soft moss and pulled her robe all the way off to show off her breasts, round and soft, and opened her legs.

“Oh, that's very pretty,” Crawly approved. “All of it.” And, curious, she leaned over and licked between Aziraphale's legs. Usually the angel was the one who got her mouth on things first, but, well, couldn't blame a curious demon.

Aziraphale's response didn't disappoint – encouraged, rather, and Crawly experimented with this and that to vary her moans until she, too, quivered and wailed, and that was that.

Most of the time they didn't touch very much; it didn't seem welcome. But this time...Crawly moved from between Aziraphale's legs and lay beside her, and they embraced in a way that felt natural. Good. Aziraphale was kind of heavy against her, but it was a good heavy, grounding. She smelled nice as she tucked her head under Crawly's chin, and she was very soft and warm. 

“I liked that,” Crawly said quietly.

“Me too.” Aziraphale's voice was a little blurry from pleasure – good, she wasn't worrying over what God might think, at least not yet. 

And she was staying in Crawly's arms as they lay under the tree, the pomegranate forgotten, and night fell on the Garden.


	2. Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment in winter, when Crowley and Aziraphale are growing old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T, set in my Castle Terra AU. 
> 
> (You don't have to be familiar with it exactly, though it helps. Very faux-medieval, human AU, Aziraphale is a librarian and Crowley is a princess.)

“Give it here, love,” Aziraphale said. “I might be an old lady but my eyes are still better than yours.” She slipped on her spectacles while Crowley surrendered the letters. Today was a wheelchair day for Aziraphale, her hip and back aching when she tried to stand for more than a few moments, so Crowley had run alone out to the guardhouse for a breath of fresh winter air, and to collect their letters. Old ladies they might be, both of them over seventy now, but she thought they were in pretty good nick despite it all.

“Yeah, yeah,” she teased, handing the letters over and settling on the end of the sofa, squirming as close to Aziraphale as she could get. This was not close enough, but it would do for the moment – they could cuddle properly later. Aziraphale had worked all morning, digging into oral histories and trade records to track down some things for Adam. It had been, well, a bit thrilling – Crowley helped her reach some of the books that were quite high up, but otherwise she just watched her wife's brain work, and went all silly inside. Aziraphale was so _smart_ , knowing exactly where to go to find what she needed.

But now was their reward: letters from beloved friends, and soon Sali would arrive with tea and cake for them to share. So Crowley curled her legs up, rested her head on Aziraphale's shoulder, and listened to her read.

“Oh, let's start with Asha's letter,” Aziraphale said, opening the hefty packet. It had only been a month or so since she'd written them the traditional Christmas letter, but that had never stopped them from writing novellas back and forth. It was a little easier to travel between their kingdoms now; one could even take a carriage. (Crowley was quietly pleased with this turn; she still loathed riding, and Aziraphale was getting so she could only manage riding for a few hours a day, and no longer for days at a time.)

“'My darling girls,'” Aziraphale started. “'I hope you're both keeping warm in that icebox of a place, and that you're keeping each other warm! My Cynth is here visiting from Lanhydrock, so I have someone to warm my bed too. She sends you both her love and affection...'” And so went Asha's happy tales of her own life in Gaia. She still maintained a stable of lovers as well as the deep loving friendship with Aziraphale and Crowley. She was very well, though worried about Elsie, as did they all; she seemed more and more vulnerable to illness, and her body was slow to fight it off.

“We must visit her soon,” Crowley said softly. “This summer.”

“Agreed,” Aziraphale said. “Asha will come with us, if I ask her.” They didn't mention that it might be the last time they saw their beloved friend; Elsie wouldn't be the first of their circle to pass on, but that hardly made it hurt less. 

Crowley wrapped her hand around Aziraphale's and raised it to her lips, kissing her knuckles. “We'll have a brilliant holiday.”

Aziraphale smiled and squeezed Crowley's hand, and turned to kiss her temple, right next to her eye. “The best. I love you.”

“I adore you too. What else does she have to say, though!”

Aziraphale laughed and turned back to the letter. The rest of Asha's news was happier, thankfully; the new king in Gaia had ascended the throne and proved to be a good sort, and she was pleased to be working for someone less set in his ways. They were having an easier winter than usual, just as in Terra, and she was enjoying it thoroughly.

Aziraphale smiled a little wistfully as Asha recounted the hikes she was taking; she  _could_ still go on long rambles, if she used walking sticks and was having a good day, but the end of that was in sight. 

(Crowley made a mental note to get them both outside as often as possible; it helped Aziraphale, to keep walking as much as she could, and it helped them both to have their little adventures in the forests and fields.)

Eventually the letter drew to a close with warm reminders of love and affection, kisses to them both, worries over their respective healths, and yet more love; decades of it now, behind the sweet words.

“Gosh, no wonder she's got a gal in every port,” Crowley said, when a particularly tender passage left her blushing.

“That's my girl,” Aziraphale gloated. “I picked smart, for my first lover.”

Crowley laughed and kissed her shoulder before settling her head back on it. “Fine, brag about it angel! Who else wrote to us?”

Aziraphale smiled and opened the next letter. A shorter one from Stepan (and his wife, who Crowley had become very fast friends with over years of meeting at conferences and the like, and exploring various little towns and cities while their spouses did their Librarian thing); all was well there, and he mostly wrote about his research and studies, while his wife tackled the gossip of the court and enclosed a sketch of a new style of gown that had become quite fashionable there.

Aziraphale and Crowley appreciated the news,  _deeply_ appreciated the gossip, and both pored over the drawing of the gown.

“Ooh, tits are in again,” Crowley observed, turning her head. These days anything she wanted to look at closely was best examined in her peripheral vision. An odd thing, but not too worrying; she could see everything else just fine. She could find her way around and gaze at her cute wife and the beautiful landscape and everything else as much as she liked, so she didn't fret losing more detail. Much.

“This looks _so_ much like my linen gown – remember that? It was practically see-through, with adjustable neckline?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, do I ever!” Crowley said happily. “Don't you still have it?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “In storage somewhere. Shall I get it out, come summer?” She laughed and kissed the top of Crowley's head. “Tie it just below my nipples, just for you again?”

Crowley slipped her hand around one of Aziraphale's breasts, and kissed her neck. “Please. No, really, please. It's such a thing of simple beauty, I want to see you in it again.”

“Well, all right then. It shall be done,” Aziraphale said peaceably. Of course her body had changed with age, but she was still really very proud of her bosom, and Crowley was...well, _Crowley_. She was highly...motivated. By Aziraphale's breasts. It was a useful weakness to exploit, honestly.

Aziraphale lifted one hand to pet the side of Crowley's head as she read their final letter aloud. It was from the new Librarian at Annwn. Eric had passed away suddenly a few months before, and there had been a bit of a scramble. Star was the result, and Aziraphale had  _immediately_ demanded that Crowley, should she outlive Aziraphale, find someone just like her to take over at Terra. She was young and impossibly enthusiastic, wore bright clothes and did fun things with her hair, was brilliant and generally lived up to her name. She would transform the gloomy old Library there in the way that Eric never had quite wanted to do, and would help transform the Court too. It wasn't as stodgy as it had been in Crowley's youth, but Lucifer and his generation could only do so much.

Crowley and Aziraphale had travelled for the ceremony to welcome her to Annwn, and immediately been utterly taken with this sparky young woman, who confirmed for them that the Guild remained a hotspot of lesbian orgies in addition to an educational institution. Aziraphale had been having a hard time getting around and Star was as sweet and unobtrusively helpful as could be, and of course used Crowley's correct name and pronouns naturally. They adored her utterly, and a very happy, very lively correspondence had begun.

Aziraphale sipped from her water glass, the last letter done, and Crowley snuggled up to her side. They were both white-haired now, and Aziraphale rather liked it when she tilted their heads together, silver curls pressing their like. They loved each other very much. Couldn't ask for better than that, after all these years together.


	3. Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is finally writing Aziraphale into one of her books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G, mention of minor injury.
> 
> Set in my Bike Girls human AU, but all you need to really know for this story is:
> 
> \- Crowley is a (among other things) romance novelist  
> \- Aziraphale is autistic  
> \- They are both just complete lesbian disasters. (I came up with the AU for whumptober after all...)

_Anna ducked her head, hiding her face from the others, for she was sure she was blushing a deep red. She fussed with the edge of her apron, and forced her hands to be still; it wouldn't do to fidget so obviously._

_William Yoder! Oh, he was kind and handsome, a good man. His harnesses were the best in the state, and his business was secure, something for them to build a life on. And he was_ kind _. To everyone, but especially to her, she sometimes thought._

“Tea's up,” came Aziraphale's call from the kitchen. “Shall I bring you a mug?”

Crowley smiled at her screen, pleased with the last few hours' work. “Nah, I need to move around.” She pushed her office chair back and hoiked herself out of it. An unfortunate incident in a friend's garden involving mud, a chicken, and a copy of Luther's 95 theses had resulted in her wrenching her ankle something awful. Keeping it tightly wrapped up and generally taking it easy was all that seemed to be needed, at least. And, from time to time, actually walking on it – well, limping.

(The rest of the time Crowley cheerfully scooted around in her office chair until Aziraphale rolled her eyes.)

“Good work?” Aziraphale asked, greeting her with a kiss and a fragrant mug.

“Very good,” Crowley said, leaning against the counter. “Anna's pretty well in love by now, just got to artificially separate them based on the thinnest of excuses, and bring them back together with a convenient carriage accident.”

Aziraphale gloated, for she was finally getting her dearest wish – Crowley was writing  _her_ into one of her Amish romance novels. Anna, in addition to sharing initials, had some of Aziraphale's looks, her stims and – eventually – the broken wrist that had lead to her and Crowley meeting and falling in love.

“Good girl,” she approved. 

“Me or Anna?” Crowley asked, bemused.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, and sipped her tea, going over to sit at the table. “Oh, Anathema asked me to cover for her at the shop tomorrow, she and Newt got given tickets to a matinee in London. Want me to pick up tea from the chippy on the way home?”

“Mmm, probably for the best,” Crowley said. “I'll have the leftover pad thai for lunch, not like there's really enough for two.” She stretched a little, and scratched her leg thoughtfully. “Can you pick up a little cream too, please? I want to make scones.”

“I'll swing by the Tesco,” Aziraphale promised, and smiled at her. “Ankle all right?”

“Still attached,” Crowley said cheerfully. “It really is, though.” She stretched her leg out, foot up on a spare chair, and smiled in satisfaction. “We should go for a walk later.”

“You just want to show off your cane,” Aziraphale said dryly. “But all right, darling, a short one.” 

Plans settled, Aziraphale enjoyed her tea, and the homey conversation. The homey  _everything_ , wonderfully intimate. She'd spent last night in her flat, revelling in solitude – to say nothing of tidying her bedroom a bit – and would spend tonight with Crowley in her bed. Perhaps making love, perhaps not; they'd see how the wind blew. And tomorrow Crowley would write more of her book, and Aziraphale would get to read it first and try to catch all the references – flattering and otherwise – to herself, and it would be  _lovely_ .

Their evening was all Aziraphale could have wanted and more. She made a quick tea; her spag bol wasn't exactly going to win prizes, but it was hearty and good and filling. They went for a walk together around their pretty little neighbourhood, Crowley showing off her snake-headed cane and Aziraphale pausing to chat with one of the bookshop regulars. Then back home to cuddle in the living room, Crowley with her phone and Aziraphale with her book.

She helped re-wrap Crowley's ankle after a shower (goodness knew they had enough medical gear on hand to outfit a small field hospital at this point), and they snuggled down for some lazy kissing and caressing. Not quite sex, but – intimacy, Aziraphale decided, as she traced a fingertip around Crowley's nipple and watched it harden. Simple, lovely intimacy.

“Do you like your Amish avatar?” Crowley asked, for Aziraphale had read over what she'd written that day.

“Yes! I can't wait to read more. Will it be very thrilling?”

“Incredibly so,” Crowley promised, and kissed the tip of her nose. “Did I get your stims and stuff right?”

“Oh, love. Yes, of course. You know my tells as well as I do now,” Aziraphale assured her, rubbing Crowley's belly. “I wonder if anyone else will figure out that she's autistic?”

“I need to write some straight romance. I mean, not-Amish,” Crowley grumbled. “Write an autistic heroine for real, you know?” She nosed Aziraphale's collarbone. “Write how she's interesting and funny and cute, and how she falls in love, and how someone falls in love with her?”

“Oh, honey. That would be amazing.” Aziraphale gave her a little hug. “Have you ever written lesbian romance?”

Crowley shook her head. “There's not as much market,” she admitted. “And I don't know...I like having that be personal, y'know? If I got the right idea, I guess I'd pitch it, but taking a step away from my real life...I feel freer?”

“I don't know exactly, but I think I understand,” Aziraphale said after a moment of thinking. “And anyway, you're the one writing, you should do as you like.” She grinned and tapped the edge of the bandage where it wrapped around Crowley's calf. “Although I _have_ noticed that your characters are a bit disaster-y.”

“Well, yeah. Gotta put all that first-hand medical knowledge to use!” Crowley said cheerfully, and Aziraphale laughed and snuggled closer, and Crowley pulled the duvet up to cover them, and turned the lights off, and they kissed in the warm darkness, happy, ordinary, impossibly content and in love.


	4. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far into the future, Crowley shows Aziraphale a new side of herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canon-verse, far-future SF, aro-ace relationship. Rated G

“Oh! You're cold!” Aziraphale exclaimed, and then mentally smacked herself as Crowley froze in place.

“Is that bad? I can turn back...”

“It isn't bad,” Aziraphale said firmly. “It took me by surprise, is all. I keep telling you, you're beautiful like this.”

Crowley couldn't blush, because while she wasn't a snake, she wasn't entirely human either. Somewhere in between, and Aziraphale thought again that she was  _very_ beautiful. Red curls spiralled down her back, and her face and body were scaled in red and black. Human features – well, human-ish – and body. But not human body temperature, and Aziraphale reached for her again, her own pale skin striking against the gleaming scales.

“There we are,” she said softly. “I was very rude, and I apologise.”

“I've survived you being rude before, angel,” Crowley said, tucking her head onto Aziraphale's shoulder.

“Oh, just seven thousand or so years' worth,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “You ought to push me out an airlock.”

“Why? It wouldn't do any good,” Crowley said, and they giggled together, their warm camaraderie restored, not that it had really gone anywhere in the first place. But Crowley was relaxing again, and the scales on her face thickened a little, and she flicked her tongue out, tasting the air.

Her silly, ridiculous demon. A thousand years since they had become Their Side, and only last week had Crowley bothered to mention that she was finding it hard not to spend time in this transitional form! She was human-shaped most of the time (well, broadly; they still neither of them bothered with a sex, and only barely bothered with gender, both of them starting to present as women most of the time a good five hundred or so years before), and a snake regularly, but had neglected to mention that this was what was most comfortable, some days! Aziraphale had nearly thrown a pillow at the wall, she was so upset. Crowley deserved to feel good in her body! Always!

She still wasn't any good at being gentle, not really. Not like Crowley was with her, with her centuries of easing Aziraphale into an independent life. Not the way they'd learned together what it meant to be  _their side_ , Crowley taking to it like a duck to water, and Aziraphale taking to it like...like something very  _awkward_ and only somewhat buoyant.

But they had muddled through, and now were openly the best and closest of friends. They had begun to talk, slowly, trying to find names and explanations for what they were. Sex was right out, of course, neither of them having any interest in it on either a physical or spiritual plane. (“I simply cannot manage all those eyes  _and_ an orgasm,” Aziraphale had declared, and Crowley nodded sympathetically.) Romance was right out too. (“I love you,” Crowley had tried to explain. “I love going out to dinner with you, but if we shared our lives completely, I'd kill you. I'm not your...your partner. I don't want to be. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Aziraphale had said, unspeakably relieved that she wasn't going to be breaking Crowley's heart. “I don't want a partner. I want to be me, just me. With my best friend, but still.”

“Oh, Azi!” And there had been hugs and little pets, and then Aziraphale had had to go off to her knitting club and Crowley got a bug in her ear to wander in the Outer Hebrides for a week, coming back just in time for their standing monthly coffee and cake date, and it had been wonderful.)

So with Crowley's gentleness and Aziraphale's unerring ability to find the right words, they'd muddled through. And when the habitation ring was built above the Earth, they purchased two flats on it. They weren't anywhere near each other, but that had hardly bothered them in the past, and anyway, Aziraphale thought it rather nice to be able to pick the view whenever she liked.

Today they were in Aziraphale's flat, and she was quite glad of it, for it was the day when Crowley shifted to this kind of halfway form, and Aziraphale wanted to hold her and ply her with soft things and good food and drink, and that was very easy here. Indeed, they were snuggled on a very soft sofa, gazing out at the stars, and there was a pot of tea nearby and a plate of fairy cakes. As yet untouched, but she liked to be prepared for emergencies.

And so, all the arguments and kindnesses and late nights and even one or two early mornings behind them, they were here, and Crowley was curled in Aziraphale's lap, her skin turned to scales and her smile odd, the flattened lines of a snake's mouth. Her eyes were big and golden, and Aziraphale stroked her hair, admired how the loose curls had turned to spirals. And got used to how cold Crowley was to the touch.

Cool, really; but startling after her demon-warmth. Aziraphale ran her hand down Crowley's shoulder and took her hand, pleased she was wearing only a long, loose skirt; the better to touch her. Aziraphale herself was dressed neatly in the fashion of a good five hundred years ago, picked because it echoed the older rococo dresses, and she did still like a spot of embroidery or eighty. “You're really beautiful like this,” she said. “I mean it. You're  _beautiful_ , Crowley.”

“All right, all right, I believe you,” Crowley grumbled, because she had to, but she also curled her fingers around Aziraphale's hand in turn, and didn't pull away. She didn't push any closer, mostly because she couldn't _get_ any closer, really. 

Aziraphale simply smiled and began to stroke her back with her free hand, enjoying the new sensations, the new touches. For they did like to hug one another, or walk with arms around each others' waists, or arm-in-arm. And if one of them was having a bad day, they would cuddle and talk (or not), and be affectionate with little hugs and such.

“I love your view,” Crowley said, after they had been quiet long enough to be more than comfortable, and she had eased in Aziraphale's arms, stretching a little and making the scales on her belly do something amazing.

“Thank you. I do as well.” Aziraphale rubbed said belly, and smiled down at her. No breasts – well, that made sense! Simply a line of unbroken, beautiful, gleaming red scales. Gosh, she was getting a bit jealous, really; Crowley was simply incredible. “Shall I pour us some tea, dear girl?”

“Oh, might as well. And have a fairy cake, you've been giving them sideways looks for the last hour,” Crowley teased.

“I will, then,” Aziraphale said happily, and Crowley laughed and bussed her cheek.

“You utter...ugh. Aziraphale, if you're hungry, you must eat. You know that.”

“Of course. And I'm hardly _hungry_. But I wanted to make sure you were well, and well-comforted,” she said, gently lifting Crowley off of her lap. She was the opposite of the body-type in style for femmes just then; tall and a bit fat, with big arse and big breasts and belly and thighs and arms. Her hands were plump and her knuckles made pretty little dimples (well, _she_ thought). The current fashion was for short, very thin women. She stuck out a bit, one might say, and didn't care a jot. But Crowley did worry so, and Aziraphale loved her for it.

She poured them tea and ate her fairy cake with great joy, and watched Crowley sip her tea, body louche and relaxed and definitively snakey, with even greater joy. What a dear friend her hereditary enemy was! And what a silly girl, to be shy about showing this aspect of her, another facet of her fascinating beauty.

Aziraphale asked sweetly after a band Crowley had gone to see the other night, deliberately getting the band's name wrong just a  _bit_ , just to watch her girl sputter and protest, but she also got a wonderful, arm-flailing story, and enjoyed their conversation ever so much. They sat facing one another on the sofa, knees touching softly, and Aziraphale decided that if this wasn't nice, she didn't know what was.


	5. Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wishes on a shooting star, and Crowley doesn't like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G, canon-verse.

“Oh look,” Aziraphale said, her voice dreamy and contented. “A shooting star. Make a wish, love.”

“You make a bloody wish,” Crowley said, to be grumpy. It wasn't her fault that it came out soft and easy, a tender gift. The things this angel _did_ to her!

Aziraphale wiggled and smiled, slipping her arm around Crowley's waist and encouraging her in for a cuddle. Not that she needed encouragement, exactly. It was like breathing – actually, since they didn't  _need_ to breathe, it was even more natural – to slip her arms around Aziraphale's waist and kiss her cheek.

“You're so soft,” Crowley said, gentle, in awe.

“Well, yes, I do have body fat,” Aziraphale teased gently, and turned her head to kiss Crowley. “I'm soft on the outside. You're soft on the inside.”

“Oi,” Crowley said, in token protest. Besides, she was wrong. They were both soft on the inside, so there.

Aziraphale proved it by rolling over onto her side, the better to cuddle Crowley close, both of them ignoring the night sky now. No matter; it would still be there, after all, and right now they had a soft blanket in the deep grasses of summer, a little night birdsong, and kissing softly, simply loving each other.

“I did make a wish, you know,” Aziraphale said later when they were home. They were sharing a pot of tea, Crowley as a kind of nightcap before she settled off to sleep, and Aziraphale to accompany a dive into her latest stack of books. They would share the same bed, though, with Crowley snoozing safely under angelic protection.

“Oh?”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “I wished that I would always have the courage to love you, the way I should have since we've met.”

She was expecting a happy demon, maybe to get teased for her wish, but Crowley at least pleased that she was going to be treated right. Instead she got a stricken look, and Crowley sitting by the side of the bed, only half-dressed and not even sexy about it.

“Angel, darling. You don't...it doesn't work that way. You've always loved me exactly the way you should have.”

“How can you say that, though?” Aziraphale protested, setting her teacup aside and taking Crowley's hands, sliding up to hold her forearms, and let Crowley hold hers in return, just a little closer. “I was _dreadful_ to you. You deserve so much more from me.”

“Shhh. Shh, shh, no. That's what Heaven would expect from you, right? Unceasing adoration and you feeling awful when you couldn't meet their expectations?”

Aziraphale nodded, eyes sad. “Oh. I'm sorry. This is...pain making that promise, isn't it?”

“I think it is,” Crowley said gently. “You have loved me since we met, in your own way. And that's good enough for me, and it ought to be good enough for you. I don't have...requirements for you to meet, love. Or rather, you meet them by existing.”

Aziraphale gave her a passing smile, and took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, of course. I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to say that,” Crowley reminded her, and kissed her cheek. “You read that book about deprogramming faster than I did, didn't something stick?”

Aziraphale even laughed at that, surprising both of them, and pulled Crowley into her arms. “I love you. I have always loved you. I was...sick. Not sick, but like I was sick, I think. My brain didn't work right, such as it is. It's better now, but some patterns are hard to unlearn. There.”

Crowley laughed. “Now you must promise to  _believe_ what you just said. Because I've always believed it. You're my best friend! You bought me oysters and talked to me at Gethsemane, and took every demonic working that required a horse for three hundred years!”

Aziraphale smiled. “If I promise I'm working on it?”

“Of course, that's all anyone can ask.” Crowley kissed her forehead, then her lips. “I love you so much. And you love me – I promise, you do. I know it, even if I can't feel it.”

“Good. For I do love you, and I always have.” Aziraphale pulled her in to a closer embrace, and smiled, rubbing her bare back. “Lucky it's summer, or you'd freeze. Crowley, I changed my mind. Can I sleep with you tonight? I mean, both of us falling asleep, together?”

“'Course you can. You don't have to ask permission for that.” Crowley hugged her again, and finally wiggled out of her jeans and into a cute little silk pyjama set, inevitably contrasting to the fluff and lace and confection of a nightgown that Aziraphale wore. They finished their tea, and curled up under the covers, Crowley as little spoon as was her favourite, held tight and warm against her angel's body as they fell asleep together, bodies pressed so close.


	6. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley stargaze, and remember their first night on Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my Renovations universe. All you need to know for this story is that it's essentially canon, and Crowley has a variable physical disability that means she sometimes uses mobility aids. And Aziraphale is very butch, and very handsome.
> 
> Rated G.

“Mind some company?” 

Aziraphale actually startled, then smiled over at Crowley. “From you? Never, darling.” She laughed as Crowley settled smack on her lap and stowed her crutches, snuggling up in Aziraphale's arms.

“Well you _said_...”

Aziraphale laughed and rubbed Crowley's arm – her darling's hips were starting to act up again, and it always took a day or two to adjust. “By the way, your new raised bed is built.”

Crowley brightened up at that. “Dove! Thank you so much, I'll plant some winter crops in there tomorrow.”

Aziraphale laughed and flexed a little, pretending it was a stretch, and snuggled her demon a little closer. “How're the old hips, darling?” Crowley had spent the day in the house, doing small repairs that needed doing – and a big one or three, which meant they hadn't even had dinner together.

“Absolute bastards, both of them,” Crowley said cheerfully. “But I'm getting by fine.” She sighed happily in Aziraphale's arms, just as the sun went below the horizon. “Let's stargaze tonight. Just like this.”

“Well, of course,” Aziraphale said, and snapped her fingers, ensuring that a bottle of quite good wine and two glasses – already full and the wine breathing a bit – were on hand. It was Crowley's turn to caress her, her cool fingertips tracing Aziraphale's collarbone, exposed when she had – feeling rather scandalous – unbuttoned the top two buttons of her work shirt.

“You're so handsome,” Crowley mumbled, and kissed her collarbone. “Can we play something where you rescue me from grave danger and nurse me back to health again soon?”

Aziraphale laughed, and promised they could play just exactly that soon, in between pressing kisses under Crowley's ear. “The very gravest of danger. I shall carry you away, if you like.”

“Yes, please,” Crowley requested, very happy at the thought. She smiled at the rumble of Aziraphale's laugh, and reached for their wine. They toasted each other silently and sipped, settling down to watch the stars slowly come out.

“Clear night,” Crowley said at one point. “'s'nice. Remember the first night?”

“Of course, dearest,” Aziraphale said. “It was so lovely of God to make a cloudless night and show off the stars.”

Crowley grunted, and Aziraphale laughed.

“It was a _desert_ , you know,” Crowley said. “Not much to do with God, not directly.”

“Well of course, but I wanted to see if I could rile you,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “And that was _such_ a lovely night. Really something special.”

Crowley made another grumpy noise, knowing full well she was only playing into Aziraphale's hands. Her soft, strong hands. That were holding Crowley.

God, she hated her life some days, she thought, snuggling into Aziraphale's lap more firmly while her own sweet angel kissed her hair.


	7. Grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growth can come in a lot of forms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonverse, rated G.

Crowley glared at her plants. There was a whole room for them now in her flat, with plenty of sun and water and humidity kept just right, and a fancy new fertilizer. They were being given the best of chances, and she knew the older plants whispered to the younger ones _here's how not to disappoint her. Here's how to be a good plant. The tools are there, and she expects perfection._

“Grow,” Crowley hissed at a new fern, and it trembled, and grew.

Aziraphale stepped back and gazed up at the sign, her name over the door. She fidgeted with the edge of her pelisse, but she was smiling nonetheless. What a brilliant idea! A way to stay in the world, and for those who needed angelic help to find her. Why, she'd have regular hours and everything! Well, posted hours. And there were...one or two books she'd be willing to part with, she reckoned.

And the rest of her collection, right there, no longer socked away in little spots all over the world! Of course travelling wasn't very hard, but well, Heaven was starting to crack down on that kind of thing, and it _did_ make things easier to have all her scrolls together.

She went into the shop, only a quarter filled just now. She would change that. Add books, add stories, add beautiful illustrations and art, all the best things humanity had produced. She did love them so; maybe not the way an angel ought to, distant and magnificent, but close up and cthonic and rough and messy. From her ancient scrolls to the latest novel – she did love them all so much.

“Grow,” she whispered to her collection. “Grow for me, dearest ones.”

God watched them. She did not, as some surmised, necessarily see the sparrow fall, but she could watch, and did. She watched them at the bus stop; the demon (who didn't need to be forgiven, and whom She thought was finally getting that) still covered in soot, and she watched her own little angel. This one had always been different, and she seemed determined to still be different.

She watched them talk, and She watched Aziraphale give up her sword again. Good girl. Well, angel who looked like a girl. She watched them become their own side, watched the demon extend her friendship again, watched the angel take it. She watched them take each others' hands as they went onto the bus, and watched the little frisson between them, the thing that wasn't mortal enemy or friend or lover, but was _them_.

“Grow,” she whispered to them. “Grow, and be who you want to be.”


	8. Blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gives Aziraphale a gift of lingerie. That's it, that's the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one manages to simultaneously be a deep dive, and...not. It takes place in my Renovations series directly after [Experimentation in Being Human](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27128512/chapters/66246688), but honestly all you need to know is:
> 
> Roughly canon-verse, they bought a house in the country, Crowley sometimes needs to use mobility aides as she does in this story.
> 
> Rated Teen (I think? There is mention of genitals but they don't do anything with them.)

“Got you something, angel,” Crowley said, leaning over and kissing Aziraphale. “Little got-well present,” she added, passing over the pretty silver box, all wrapped up in ribbon.

They were back at home in the country, now that Aziraphale's knee was truly all better; it had been a month of wearing an unwieldy brace and using crutches, but now she could walk about as easily as she had before, and with only a tiny bit of angelic healing to nudge her that last little bit so she could give up the crutch. So they had thanked all their little tribe for their kindness, had one last lovely night in London, and very happily fled back to their little house in the country, Crowley speeding all the while.

“Crowley, that's not even a _thing_ ,” Aziraphale said, though she put her book down and took the box. “You silly woman.”

“Yes, yes I am, dunno what you do with me,” Crowley said cheerfully. They were in her study, and very cosy too during a light summer rainstorm. 

Aziraphale shook her head and cupped Crowley's cheek in one hand, the better to properly kiss her. “A question I ask myself often, love.”

“Will you open your bloody gift?” Crowley grumped, so Aziraphale was careful to take her time about it, delicately unpicking the complicated ribbon, undoing it, admiring it, folding it up to save...

When she was fairly sure Crowley was about to murder her, she opened the box properly, folded back the tissue paper, and gave a genuine cry of surprise. “Oh, Crowley! They're...very see-through!”

“I _know_ ,” Crowley leered. “I haven't given you lingerie in _months_ , angel, I'm losing my touch.”

Aziraphale laughed and lifted the...well, 'bra' didn't seem quite right, for this would provide no support to her bosom whatsoever. Thank heavens she'd picked breasts on the smaller side. But it was certainly a garment intended for her upper body, made out of silk so fine it was translucent, a beautiful pale green that would be lovely against her skin. It was ruffled, with little silk ribbons to act as drawstrings around collar and...well, not waist, but underbust, Aziraphale guessed. It was exquisitely made, a bit simpler than Crowley usually gave her, and stunning for it.

“There's mo-ore,” Crowley sang out and Aziraphale laughed, setting the beautiful thing aside, and picking up the next garment, cute little tap pants in the same translucent fabric, this time trimmed with silk ribbon. When worn, well, it would be _more_ naked than being naked.

Aziraphale blushed, fingering the soft, delicate fabric. “Oh, Crowley. It's beautiful. You spoil me.”

“Yes, I know,” Crowley leered. “Will you put them on?” 

Aziraphale giggled. “Now?”

“Well, do you have other plans?” Crowley asked sweetly, and wheeled herself back a bit to give Aziraphale room to begin undressing. A snap of her fingers and there was a cheerful fire going, already warming the air enough to encourage disrobing.

“Apparently not,” Aziraphale said dryly. She was dressed in a _very_ sharp shirt-dress, barely femme at all. Changing into see-through unders would be...rather nice, she decided, as she slipped her brogues off and began to unbutton her dress.

She undressed neatly, not bothering to make it a strip-tease, because that would make her feel an absolute tit. Besides, any kind of skin reveal seemed to make Crowley very, very happy; no need to over-egg the pudding and all.

And she did look very, very happy as Aziraphale folded her clothes, down to her skin now, and began to re-dress herself (so to speak) in the wisps of silk.

The knickers were bad enough – her pubic hair was visible through them! – but the top left her blushing madly as she adjusted the ties and the ruffled silk rubbed against her nipples. Aziraphale knew she was bright pink as she folded her hands in front of her, having no idea what to do with them, and turned to face her Crowley. “Well?” Gosh she felt silly.

Crowley was smiling softly, though, so  _softly_ , it was enough to make an angel weep. “Look at you,” she murmured. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

“Oh, Crowley...”

Crowley pushed herself forward a few feet – her hips and back were simply impossible these days, so a wheelchair it was – and held out a hand. “I mean it. You are  _gorgeous_ .” 

Aziraphale's cheeks were still hot, but she went down on one knee and held her hand out in return, curling her fingers around Crowley's and squeezing.

“Oh my...someone,” Crowley muttered. “You're a Blake painting. You're _incredible_.” She pushed herself a little closer and patted the bent knee, the one Aziraphale had hurt. “My best angel, vulnerable and strong. Don't think I don't see you.”

“Crowley, you can see my snatch in these panties,” Aziraphale said dryly. This was beautiful, and she loved her dear one, but the tension needed to break, she needed to laugh, or she'd just...die of being seen, or something. It was too much to be naked in too many ways.

Crowley threw her head back and laughed, and urged Aziraphale to stand up, the better to caress her thighs and get close enough, twisting around a bit, to kiss her belly. “Well, yeah. I might not want to do anything with it, but I like  _looking_ .”

Aziraphale smiled and leaned down for a kiss, not incidentally causing her breasts to shift, to hang a little, so that she got a nice little grope as Crowley kissed her. For asexual beings, she got her tits grabbed an  _awful_ lot, not that she was complaining, mind.

“I like you looking,” she admitted, standing up. She miracled a mirror into existence, a big one, and gently twirled around, checking her own self out. “Gosh.”

“Gosh is right,” Crowley said happily. “I should've done this _ages_ ago.”

“Don't plan on it again for another hundred years at least,” Aziraphale said. “I've had enough of human injuries to last me at least that long.”

Crowley laughed, watching Aziraphale experiment with moving, posing, how her body looked under the diaphanous fabric. “I don't blame you in the least, sweetheart. You had more trouble moving around than I ever have.”

Aziraphale smiled at her, and blew her a kiss. “I love you. Thank you for this, truly. You make me so beautiful.” She was still blushing, a little, but thought it made her rather cute, all that colour in her cheeks. The ones on her face. She could check them both at the same time now, of course.

“You make you beautiful, I just get to decorate a little,” Crowley said. “And you're welcome, angel. I'm glad you're feeling better, is all.” She held out her arms. “Let me hold you?”

“Like you have to ask,” Aziraphale said, all but running over to her and settling in her lap, a little careful at first, but of course she wasn't too heavy, her demon was stronger than that. So she reached for a kiss, warm and soft and nearly naked in her lady's lap, Crowley's arms already caressing her so nicely as she returned to deep kiss.


	9. Nap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wakes from a nap, and gets a little more used to being cared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set right after the end of [The Princess and the Librarian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647866/chapters/59552839). Spoilers for the end of the story, although it won't exactly ruin it, I'm pretty predictable ;) 
> 
> CW: mention of injury, stitches being (painlessly) removed. 
> 
> Rated Teen (sorry for the mis-rating earlier! I literally forgot about the last line!)

“Mmm. What time is it?” Aziraphale rubbed her eyes and yawned, sitting up a little. Of course Crowley was there; she'd hardly left Aziraphale's side since her riding accident.

“Time for tea and cakes,” Crowley said, moving to kneel by the narrow little bed and pet Aziraphale's hair. “Hullo, beautiful.”

Aziraphale giggled, feeling very cozy and also very lazy. What with her being off work before Christmas too, and being under firm but gentle orders to stop working lest she hurt or exhaust herself further, she couldn't remember the last time she'd had this many days with no work in a row.

She stretched, carefully, but her body was healing too. Of course her ankle and her head were the worst, but hitting the ground hadn't been any fun at all, and she'd ached from head to toe until...now, pretty much.

“Well, all right,” she said sleepily, and pushed herself into sitting up against her pillows, blushing when Crowley rearranged them and helped her settle more comfortably. “You fret too much!”

“I really don't,” Crowley said, and kissed her cheek. “And you will eat and drink, my lass. The physician's coming to take out your stitches soon.”

“Oh! I should dress, then --”

Crowley made a little  _tch_ sound. “He's seen a woman in her nightgown before, angel. Better you stay comfortable, and stay in bed. Do you feel better?” This called over her shoulder as she went to fetch said tea and cakes.

“Yes! I'd bloody _better_ after two days in bed!” Aziraphale called after her. It was so silly! She couldn't put any weight on her foot yet, but she was quite good at crutching around by now, and it only hurt if she knocked against something, or accidentally stepped down. And with the splint back on, even a little bump was fine.

“Good, you'll feel even better after two more,” Crowley called back, irritatingly cheerful. One would think she didn't even mind having a girlfriend who could hardly do for herself! She was a _princess!_ All right, a very unusual one, but still!

Aziraphale's protesting squawk was cut off by the appearance of delicious-looking little cakes, all covered with pretty coloured icing, and of course a cup of strong tea. Her nap had done her good; she was napping most days now, and had to admit that it felt rather better to have the extra rest. It would be Epiphany someday, and back to work  _truly_ after that, on two feet or one, and an end to these lush afternoon dreams, so she aimed to enjoy it while she could.  _Quietly_ , although if you asked her, Aziraphale might not have been able to tell whether it was that she didn't want to give Crowley the satisfaction of enjoying Aziraphale taking care of herself, or that she was afraid to be seen as lazy and malingering.

But now was a time to rest, and she ate her cakes and drank her tea and giggled when Crowley teased her and teased and flirted right back, such that they were in the middle of a kiss when the Maester Physician arrived. (Luckily he knocked, and anyway they were at least a bit hidden in Aziraphale's tiny, carved-out bedroom.)

Crowley went to fetch him while Aziraphale tucked her bosom back into her nightgown and added a shawl for propriety, and tried to sit up and look more or less like she could be taken out in polite society.

The Maester was nearly a friend at this point, she'd seen him so often, and he was always so kind to her. This was no exception, as he settled in a chair by her bedside and took her pulse and felt her forehead, and did all the little things to ensure she was still ticking over.

“Is your ankle better at all?” he asked.

Aziraphale shrugged. “A bit. It doesn't ache so much, though I can't put any weight on it. Staying in bed seems to help,” she said, a little shyly. “I can move about now, though – I go between here and Crowley's rooms, mostly.” Stairs were doable, but no fun for anyone.

“Resting is truly the best thing for you,” he agreed.

“What if it's worse than a sprain?” Crowley asked softly, from her seat in the window.

“If she fractured a bone, it's about the same treatment, just longer, I'm afraid,” the Maester explained. “Nothing is out of place – I mean, if a bone was broken, it's all still aligned properly. Does that make sense?”

Crowley nodded, smiling a little. “It does. I broke my arm quite badly when I was young, and that was...I understand.”

“Good. And thank you for asking, Princess. I've had the same concern. But don't discount that sprains are funny things, and your body's working hard to heal a lot. It could be a few things, and the best thing you can do is rest and take care of yourself,” he told Aziraphale. “Don't push yourself where this is concerned; your body will know when it's healed enough to start bearing weight.” His smile grew. “Truly, though, you look so much better. How is the bruising?”

“Mostly gone,” Aziraphale said, mirroring his smile. The ugly bruise on her face had finally faded from faint yellow-green to nothing the day before. “The really big, deep ones on my hip and shoulder are still there, but they're not so sensitive to touch any longer. And I feel...better. Stronger. My body doesn't hurt like it did.”

She couldn't look directly at Crowley, the woman was smiling too hard. It was...overwhelming. Crowley really, really loved her, and sometimes Aziraphale had to just take a break so she could marshal her feelings, and get used to being beloved again. It was a little scary sometimes, and she was glad she had something else to focus on right now, to give herself time to breathe through the way Crowley made her feel. To remind herself that she deserved this; or, at least, that she didn't  _not_ deserve a girlfriend who was kind to her and loved her.

“Wonderful,” the Maester said. “And your head looks well-healed; I'll take out your stitches today. It shouldn't hurt, but might feel a little funny, kind of a tugging sensation?”

Aziraphale nodded. She was very still, and breathed very evenly while he bent close to her. The snip of his scissors was loud in the silent Library, and Aziraphale did spare a moment of sympathy – Crowley was watching like a  _hawk_ . 

She stayed still and quiet while he gently drew out the sutures; she was good at that, and anyway he was right, it didn't hurt so much as just feel really weird. The cut was small, and she only had a few stitches anyway, such that it was all over in about a minute.

She touched the scar at her hairline and smiled. “Thank you, so much.”

“Of course, Maestra. I'll leave you to it now, but please call for me if the pain in your ankle gets worse, or you're worried about anything,” he said. “It's absolutely no trouble at all to come visit you here, or in the Princess' apartments.”

Aziraphale smiled shyly, eyes down on the bedclothes. Sure the whole castle knew they were together, but gosh! “I will, I promise. I'm sure I'm getting better, though, just a little slowly.”

“Your body's been through a lot in your life,” the Maester said kindly. “It's allowed to take an extra week or two. Are you eating a bit more than usual? You'll need the extra fuel.”

Aziraphale laughed out loud – she couldn't help it, for Crowley had basically been stuffing little treats and nibbles in her face every time she was awake. “I am, I promise. You have a good minion for  _that_ in that one, she thinks I'm a starving orphan or something.”

The Maester grinned and looked over his shoulder at Crowley. “Keep it up. All of it. You're a bloody good nurse, Princess.”

Crowley  _preened_ , and Aziraphale knew she was doomed in the best of ways.

Lucky for her one of those ways meant, once Crowley had seen the Maester out, she locked the door, came straight back to Aziraphale's bed, and crawled in with her, hand already reaching between her legs, her clever fingertips bringing Aziraphale to a moaning, sweet little orgasm as the sun set and Crowley peppered her face with kisses. There were advantages to spending the day in bed, wearing very few layers.


	10. Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale tries to go fast, in her own way. And in which Crowley is the most obnoxiously lovable cheerleader in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my [Bike Girls](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997386) series. A human AU, in which they are Disaster Lesbians who love each other very, very much and are complete disasters.
> 
> cw: offscreen character injury

“You go too fast for me, Crowley!” Aziraphale called, pedalling as hard as she could.

Crowley slowed up immediately, dropping back so that she and Aziraphale could ride side-by-side. “Shit, I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” Aziraphale puffed. “Sorry about your fat bird of a girlfriend.”

“Oi. Stop. Pull over here,” Crowley said immediately, and she looked...not _mad_ , not exactly. Not like Gabrielle used to look. But upset.

They turned into the entrance to a farm, a little gravel inlet, and Crowley took her helmet off, still straddling her bike, and hung it on a handlebar before holding her arms out. “C'mere. I love you. Yeah, well, I'm sweaty and gross too, we have that in common. Angel, love. Don't...you never, ever have to apologise to me. I love your body, and I love your you.”

“Um, sorry,” Aziraphale said, wishing desperately that being held in Crowley's wiry arms wasn't unbelievably comforting. “I don't...know why I say those things.”

“Because you've been trained to say them, is my guess.” Crowley rubbed her back. “Listen to me, you never apologise for being mine. I cannot _believe_ I get a gift like you. This is really important to me, okay? You being able to cycle fast isn't important. Not even a little bit.” She smiled and drew back, and kissed Aziraphale. “Also, being quite frank, it's that antique of a bike that's slowing you down,” she teased. 

“I love my bike!”

Crowley laughed. “So do I – what else would I be able to tease you about so much?”

Aziraphale blinked at her. “Have you...met me? No, I mean, of course you won't tease me about serious stuff, I know  _that_ . But my deep and abiding love for Antiques Roadshow is fair game.”

Crowley laughed even harder. “Yeah, but the bike is an easy one. Not that I don't love it too – I adore this sturdy old thing, it brought us together.”

“Technically, a poorly-maintained road did,” Aziraphale said, just to be a shit, and she got a kiss for it. “I take my earlier words back, but also can you go a little slower, _please_?”

“Of course. I'm sorry, dove. You set the pace from here on,” Crowley promised. 

Aziraphale smiled shyly. “And when we get back – can we talk about buying me a lighter bike? I won't give this one up, but it might nice to...to try something else.”

“All that _and_ I get to be a gearhead? Yes, please!” Crowley laughed and kissed her one more time. “I love you. Wrist okay?”

“Crowley, it's been six months!” Aziraphale was giggling though, as they set off – and she set the pace. “Of course it's fine. Your foot all right?” she teased, and Crowley grinned.

“Fair enough.” She patted Aziraphale on the back as they returned to tackling the hill, and then enjoying the descent on the other side.

_One Year Later_

It had been the best surprise. Okay, it wasn't much of a race, but it was, technically, a  _race_ and Aziraphale had entered without telling her girlfriend until she realised she both needed to start training and also kind of needed a ride to the starting line.

In hindsight, she should have  _never_ told Crowley, for Crowley was literally the most obnoxious supporter ever in the history of all time. She cooked special meals and gave Aziraphale massages and went on training rides and cheered and bought swag and was basically operating at a level that would make a Le Tour cyclist blush, let alone a middle-aged woman who was doing the riding equivalent of a turkey trot 5k. She was sort of glad she'd decided this would be her first and last race; Crowley was adorable but also deeply,  _deeply_ embarrassing. 

Still, it was the day of the race and Aziraphale was as ready as she could be, finally getting away from her girlfriend (who would be cheering from the sidelines in what was admittedly a rather cute little cheerleader fancy dress outfit because  _of course_ ) to find her place on the starting...well, corral. She nodded hello to a few women she knew from group rides, and tried not to be too nervous. It was for fun; she wasn't planning to win anything, just to prove she could  _do it_ . She was on her new, lighter bike, and she  _could_ get pretty fast on it...

They'd studied the route beforehand and even cycled it once or twice, so Aziraphale knew exactly what was coming, where the hills were, where the flats and the turns and things were. She was...fine. Not the fastest, but not the slowest, and she was happy in the middle of the pack, doing quite well, she thought, for her age and fitness. She was  _proud_ , that was it. She was proud of herself!

Besides, she could always make up time at the end – the race ended with a long descent to the finishing line, and she was good at those, tucking herself down and  _going_ . Aziraphale never loved fast descents, but she'd promised herself she would do everything right this time, while promising Crowley that  _of course_ she'd be careful and safe and all that.

Just once, just the once – she wanted to go fast for her girl.

Everything was just as she'd planned as she started the descent, tucking low and careful of her spot in the pack, picking up speed now, everyone ready for the end – and she saw the woman in front of her go down, far too fast to stop, and had only enough time to think  _bugger_ .

_One day later_

“She's pretty banged up,” Crowley said. “But she'll be fine. The break in her wrist is really clean, no surgery or anything. Same for the one in her foot. And she just needed a few stitches.”

“Oof. Same wrist as last time?” Newt asked sympathetically.

“Nope, other one,” Crowley said. “Actually, I'd better get four croissants, she really loves 'em. But yeah, it wasn't fun for anyone. My disaster girl, she's the only one with fractures.”

“Oh no, unlucky,” Newt said. “Poor lass. Anathema said if I saw you to make sure she knows she can take as much time off from work as she needs?”

“Promise,” Crowley said. “I'm making her rest. I'm so proud of her,” she gloated. “She was going so fast, I really think she'd've won it, although she swears I'm mad to say such things. But you should've seen her! Really, really impressive cycling.”

“I'm sorry I missed it,” New said, and added an extra cake when Crowley was getting her wallet and not looking. “Right, there's your pastries, a large coffee and a large honey lavender latte with whip cream.”

“Bless you,” Crowley said, paying and collecting her booty for the short walk to Aziraphale's flat, where her girlfriend had _better_ be resting in bed and ready for treats. If not, at least Crowley knew where the fuzzy restraints were.


	11. Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley sometimes needs a very specific kind of comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon, historical (roughly Regency-era), aro-ace relationship. Rated G

“My little flame,” Aziraphale said softly, stroking Crowley's head on her bare thigh. “My dearest.”

Crowley sighed and let her body go even heavier. It was so good, like this. Not lovers, not wives, not girlfriends, but them.  _Safe_ . That's what Aziraphale was, she was safe.

“Little flame, will you make yourself more vulnerable? I'd like to see you naked.”

Crowley nodded and began to undo the buttons of her dress. Aziraphale was already nude, her dress tossed on the bed, and oh, she was  _glorious_ . Big breasts, big hips, her thighs so nice to rest on. She didn't really have the figure for the fashions, those tall, columnar dresses – although she  _definitely_ had the bosom for it, and Crowley was grateful low necklines were back in fashion, and the soft stays that let a woman's form show through.

She shrugged out of her own gown, and the light stays and chemise beneath it, all still kneeling at Aziraphale's feet. Sometimes she needed this. Sometimes they both needed this, for Crowley to be a kept pet, her best friend ordering her about and protecting her.

(Sometimes it was the other way around, and oh, those were lovely times, when she tied Aziraphale to her bed with a silk ribbon around her ankle, and they shared the same pillow after Aziraphale had whispered all the fears of her heart, that she was a bad angel, that her new bookshop wouldn't succeed, anything that she wanted Crowley to absorb.)

Crowley was slim, small breasts, no hips to speak of, and now that all that was bared to the world, she huddled right back at Aziraphale's feet, sighing when her angel stroked her hair.

“My flame. I do love you so very much,” Aziraphale said, her voice tender and rich. “My best friend, through all of time. Little flame, stay there awhile. Until you stop shivering. Is it all very much?”

“Your legs are very s-soft,” Crowley said quietly. At least Aziraphale had taken off her velvet dress; that would have been too much against Crowley's bare skin.

“Thank you, little flame. Oh, Crowley. Is it very hard being you right now?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, very softly, her eyes slipping shut. “Aziraphale. It's..I'm not...right.”

“I think you're perfect. But I know how you feel. And I want to help you feel better. Like you've helped me so much, my little flame. I don't just call you that for your red hair, you know. You're bright, and lovely. You are my light. My...clarification of the world. I love you, of course, but I _appreciate_ you, darling.”

Crowley smiled, just a little, as Aziraphale's words caressed her, just as her hand was doing. Soon she could stand to be even closer.

An hour later, Aziraphale had her flame curled in her lap, and she was stroking Crowley's body. She did  _so_ like bodies! It was so nice to trace Crowley's collarbone, then cup her breast – so little! So light! – then rub her tummy and stroke her side. They didn't have erogenous zones, and it was so nice to touch wherever she liked, her little flame smiling now, her eyes a little more alert as she snuggled warm in Aziraphale's lap.

They might take the rest of the day like this, or the rest of the week. It depended on what Crowley needed; the only thing that  _mattered_ was what Crowley needed. Aziraphale would tend her little flame, and then they would return to their regular life, dearest of friends, taking dinner together while they were both in London, and running off to wherever they were needed the rest of the time, coming back, inevitably, to moan about the bosses and find some delightful new restaurant.

And then there would be a day when Aziraphale couldn't get out of bed, or Crowley was small and cold and sad, and they would care for one another, in the way they had.


	12. Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale fight, and Aziraphale spends the day fixing a mistake she made at work. It gets better, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my [Castle Terra](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801759) universe - human AU, *very* pseduo-medieval world. The important things to know to get this story is that Crowley is a transwoman and a princess, and Aziraphale is a librarian, and they are very in love.
> 
> cw: mention of menstrual bleeding

It had been the most  _awful_ day. Really, just utterly shit from the moment she woke up and groaned at the ache in her belly. Her courses had come on in the night and it looked like someone had slaughtered a piglet in her bed. She'd even got blood on Crowley's nightgown, and although she'd been kind and understanding...menses and Crowley were sometimes a hard combination. She never minded doing for Aziraphale if she felt poorly, and liked having sex with her, but it also was a reminder that she wasn't a biological woman, and didn't have menses, and it was...hard sometimes. It hit hard this time.

Perhaps that was why they'd fought over breakfast. Goodness knew Aziraphale couldn't remember  _what_ they'd actually fought over, just that Crowley had sent her into a blind rage, and vice-versa, and they'd snarled at each other and Crowley had stalked off to do God-knows-what.

Not that Aziraphale hadn't been busy – the Chancellor had found a major error in some accounting she'd done. He wasn't angry, but it was clearly annoying, and she had been absolutely mortified. Maestra Librarians did  _not_ make mistakes. 

So any plans she'd had to spend the day cataloguing and maybe selecting an interesting oral history to read aloud were well scuppered, and instead it was now well into the night and she was still bent over the great ledger, very carefully chasing her error down and scraping out the incorrect figures, to be replaced with the correct ones. Her eyes burned and her back was fiery with pain, but she  _had_ to get this done. At least she'd paused for a few minutes to wolf down a sandwich, so her belly wasn't completely empty.

Empty enough, though, and she took another break near midnight to send down to the buttery. Of course Cook was long in bed, but there were usually cold meats and cheeses, a few slices of bread and a cup of coffee to be had. A bit of food would keep her going; she  _had_ to fix this. She had to be perfect. That's what she was.

She sat up and blinked, so she wouldn't weep onto the book. What a silly ass she was, crying over a mistake. She should fix it, and make sure it never happened again. That was what Librarians _did_.

“My God, angel, how are you still _working_?”

Aziraphale looked up and Crowley was there with a tray loaded down, eyes wide and worried, and it probably didn't help when she burst into tears.

“ _Angel_.” And there, that embrace. She could live forever in that embrace, as she cried into Crowley's shoulder. Her back hurt and her eyes were blurry and tired and she was hungry and she wanted to go to bed, and she wanted her girlfriend to love her again, and she was sorry for fighting and for bleeding and for being...her.

She somehow got this out, although was pretty sure Crowley only actually grasped about half of it. Sure, they were fluent in a common language, but  _no one_ was fluent in Bawling Aziraphale.

“I missed that last bit, but I don't think I approve,” Crowley said. She'd sunk them down to the floor by Aziraphale's big desk and was holding her, her shawl wrapped around them both. “My love, shh. Listen to me. We're going to get up and sit by the fire and you'll warm your feet and sit in the comfortable chair and give that back of yours a break. You're going to eat something and drink something, and then you're to go to bed. No, hush. Aggie will survive another day, and are you really doing good work right now?”

“Yes, actually,” Aziraphale said and sniffled. “Look. I mean, quickly, don't give yourself a headache.”

Crowley smiled, looked, and conceded that even exhausted and worn out, Aziraphale did good work. “The rest of my point stands.”

“Wait – you call Chancellor Agincourt _Aggie_?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, he calls me hell-demon,” Crowley sniffed. “Old family friend, wot?”

Aziraphale gave up, collapsing to the floor again and laughing this time, feeling absolutely awful. “Crowley...thank you. I love you. I'm sorry.”

“Same back at you,” Crowley said. “Let me move the food and then I'll come get you.”

“I can bloody walk,” Aziraphale grumbled, and did so, and sure she was light-headed, but she got to her chair in the end, falling onto it with a sigh as something in her back released and Crowley put an absolutely huge ham and cheese sandwich into her hand. “Are you moonlighting as a kitchenmaid now?”  
“You think I'm good enough I'd get hired here? Really?” Crowley grinned. “I was fetching a bottle of milk, wanted to experiment with cocktails, when Rhodri came down with your order. You absolute moron, why are you still up?”

“I screwed up the accounting,” Aziraphale explained. “Badly. Well, one of those things where a small error propagates, you know?”

Crowley nodded, and poured her a cup of coffee, impressed when she gulped it down in about two swallows.

“This one's a doozy,” Aziraphale sighed. “The Chancellor wasn't angry, really, but it's not...it doesn't reflect well on me.”

“You're too hard on yourself,” Crowley protested.

“I'm not, actually.” Aziraphale closed her eyes. “I don't make mistakes, Crowley. Not in Librarian stuff. You've heard about my education. Perfection is trained into us.”

Crowley was clearly unimpressed, but held her peace. “So you're fixing your error. Why does it require sixteen hours of work at  _once_ ?”

“Fifteen,” Aziraphale corrected absently. “So far. And it's...I want to impress.” She smiled and looked down. “And what else was I going to do? We quarrelled.”

“I'm sorry about that,” Crowley said. “Although. Um. Do you remember what we fought over?”

“Not a bit,” Aziraphale confessed, and laughed, and Crowley laughed too and got up and knelt before her, hugging her, resting on her lap and oh, she was so _good_. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I...bled on you.”

“My dysphoria isn't your responsibility,” Crowley said softly.

“No, but I still made it worse, however accidentally. I'm sorry, demoness.”

Crowley shrugged. “Are your cramps bad?”

“My back feels like twisted iron,” Aziraphale said, and knew that was it for work that day, going by the look on Crowley's face. She found she couldn't argue very much.

The rest of the evening was dreamy, the coffee doing nothing to keep her awake, she was that exhausted. Crowley led her over to the little bed, now freshly-made with clean linen, and helped her undress, and change out the rags she used to catch her blood. Crowley then made her lie down and rubbed her back, easing tense muscles. It was nice, but better was when Aziraphale rolled over and held out her arms, and got to hold Crowley in an embrace. She was soft and warm and smelled so good, and Aziraphale loved her. And she told her all  _that_ , too, this time clearly and unmistakeably. 

“I'm sorry we fought,” she murmured, half-asleep in the warmth and the care and oh, she was safe. And loved. “Thank you for forgiving me. 'n bringing me food. 'n loving me.”

“Silly dove,” Crowley whispered. “We had a little spat. Of course I love you, you're my angel.”

Aziraphale smiled. “It wasn't a bad fight.”

“No fight is so bad I'd stop loving you,” Crowley promised. “You're mine and I'm yours, and that's that. Go to sleep, you silly girl. You're beyond worn out.”

Aziraphale snuggled Crowley closer, and slept.


	13. Gal Pals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the world, but not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-verse, yes I wrote a short-short story just to get to the joke.

It was the end of the end of the world. But it wasn't. Satan was gone. All right, so was the Bentley, but Crowley had had her Moment. She'd probably have a lot of other Moments later, but right now she got to have a different Moment, because Aziraphale wasn't dead, nor was she living in Madam Tracy's body.

(Not that Crowley objected to that necessarily – Madam Tracy was a perfectly lovely woman with great taste in outerwear that could stand to rub off on a certain rather beige angel – but it did get awkward to have a _menage a trois_ with only two bodies involved.)

She was newly embodied, then, and they were all right. The Earth wasn't destroyed. They were...probably fired? Could you fire angels and demons? Well, they'd likely find out, but the best thing of all was that it was past the end of the world, but the world hadn't ended. And Crowley had her arms around Aziraphale, and was being kissed to within an inch of her life (so to speak). Or possibly was doing the kissing. It wasn't so clear.

It also didn't matter. Even the Bentley...okay, that one mattered. So did the Earth still being here. But what mattered  _most_ was the two of them, that Aziraphale wasn't dead, that she was here, in her own body, and would be from now on. That Crowley could hold her and kiss her, taste her, let the fear run from their bodies and her fingers tangle in white-gold curls.

“What is _that_?” the Archangel Gabriel asked, a look of confusion and horror on his face. “Are they... _friends_? Is that what friends do here? It seems...unhygienic.”

“They're lesbians, Harold,” Pepper said, and when the Archangel of the Lord stared at her, she stared back until Gabriel dropped his gaze and pretended to find something very important that he needed to do. Over there.


	14. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they're gone, Aziraphale and Crowley are remembered, and their love is recorded for all time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castle Terra, set quite far in the future.
> 
> (I swear, I really didn't mean to write a story where the protagonists are dead for Valentine's Day! It just kinda...came to me.)

“Oh, bless you, it's perfect,” Adelia said. “You're a dream.”

“It's not _that_ far out of my way,” Star said, bemused. “Just a few days' ride, and I needed to borrow a scroll from the Caelis court anyway.”

“Also, you think Gavi is cute,” Adelia said.

“Also, I think she's cute,” Star admitted, and petted a small leaf on the climbing rose. “Can I help you plant it? Only, I knew them too and...I miss them.”

“Honey, of _course_ ,” Adelia said, touching Star's arm. “You knew them both longer than I ever did.”

“Yeah, but you're the Librarian in Terra now...”

“And you're the Librarian at Annwn, fair's fair,” Adelia said. “And you got the wild roses.”

Star laughed, and picked up the little pot. “And we're both too grown to be this silly. C'mon.”

Adelia picked up the bag of small gardening tools, and they went out together into the sunny summer morning, taking their time and enjoying the warmth as they rambled through the courtyard, waving to old Wat, and around the corner and down the ways to the shady, beautiful little graveyard.

Adelia had visited what was first Aziraphale's grave, then Aziraphale and Crowley's grave many times, of course. She hadn't known Aziraphale for very long, coming to Terra less than a year before she died, but she had been wonderfully fond of the old woman, and had enjoyed what time they had together, Librarians old and new. She had known Crowley a little better, had been tender with her as she mourned her wife until the day she, too, quietly passed away. It had been good deaths for both of them, and she liked to visit their shared grave and keep the headstone clean and things like that. It had been her idea to plant Caelish climbing roses over it.

(“After all,” she reasoned. “They were both of Terra in the end, but Aziraphale came from there, and I know Crowley loved visiting there, and was sad when they couldn't travel anymore.”)

Star had known them for much longer, if mostly through letters, but this was the first visit she could make since Crowley's funeral; her grief was still a little sharp. She knelt on the cool grass and cried a bit, touching the stone.

“Hullo you two,” she said softly. “I brought you something beautiful. Oh, I miss you both. I know you're together, but I do miss you.” She smiled when Adelia put her arm around her shoulders, and the two women hugged, and took a moment for sorrow and warm memories before getting to work.

“Were they really married?” Adelia said. “They always called each other wife, and they're written down as such, but I never found a record of a church marriage.”

“After a fashion,” Star said, digging a good, deep hole near the stone that marked their rest. “Aziraphale told me the story, it was really sweet! It was way, way back at her year and a day, they sort of...accidentally said vows, and the old Queen pointed out that they were pretty well married, and so they considered themselves.”

“That _is_ sweet,” Adelia agreed, freeing the climbing rose from its pot. “And wow, I know Crowley told me they fell in love fast, but that's _fast_.”

Star laughed. “Uh huh. Aziraphale had some kind of accident soon after she got here, and I think that really goosed things along, gave 'em so much time together.” She sat back on her heels and smiled. “I think we're ready.”

She and Adelia planted the climbing rose together, patting the dark earth in place, running back quickly the the farmyard to get some water and making sure that everything was neat and clean, their friends tended to.

“There we are,” Star said, and patted the earth. “Something pretty for both of you. I miss you. I hope you're well, now. I hope you're free of pain and together. I think that's what Heaven would be for the two of you.”

Adelia just smiled, and brushed a leaf off of the gravestone. “I think they are. It's hard to explain, but I  _know_ they're together. Aziraphale said someone had told them once they had entwined souls, so I think they're together always.”

“Good,” Star said. “They've got all that, and roses now too.” She smiled at her friend. “Let's go for a walk? It's a lovely day.”

“Of course,” Adelia said, and helped her up, and so they left the graveyard, already laughing and chattering, while the new rose put down roots in foreign soil, and began to grow.


	15. Delicious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Crowley and Aziraphale have things they think are delicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nominally written for my Bike Girls universe, but really it could be any modern Human AU.
> 
> (Explitic/NSFW text at the end!)

Crowley had a new past-time. It consisted of finding really, really nice things for Aziraphale to eat and watching her eat them. It was the best past-time in the entire universe, she believed.

That was why they were in Istanbul. Well, not the  _only_ reason why, but it was rapidly moving to the top of the list. Of course they were there to visit the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia and everything else. To spend a dreamy afternoon at the hammam, getting scrubbed down and steaming themselves gently until they emerged into the warm Turkish spring, fragrant and blinking and more relaxed than either had ever believed possible.

But also to eat. They both had indiscriminate tastes and had had plenty of meals from carts in the street as well as Aziraphale treating them to a very, very fancy dinner. And to every dish or little treat or sweetie, Aziraphale smiled and closed her eyes and sighed “Delicious!”, or some variant thereof.

It had started when they arrived, and had got islak burgers before wandering down Istiklal Caddesi, before Aziraphale found a bookshop with some English-language books and Crowley found the little cafe across the street from it. They had each wolfed down two of the greasy, garlicky things, and Aziraphale sighed happily. “Delicious,” she proclaimed them, and had set off along the famous street, some kind of resplendent goddess in her long yellow sundress and her pretty red sandals.

(Crowley might be a little bit gone, she had to admit, running after her pretty girlfriend. She was okay with that.)

Little cups of Turkish coffee, little cups of the sweet rosehip tea. Baklava in spades, so many kinds of baklava! The little round bread-things one bought from a cart in the mornings, sweet fruit and more strong coffee. Spicy kebabs and fish fresh from the sea, and ice cream and candies. They put in their time exploring, just walking the city (Crowley loved the shop that only sold ball-bearings), but mostly they ate, and while they both enjoyed it, it was Crowley who smiled dreamily while Aziraphale tasted something and sighed with pleasure.

(She was beginning to think, quietly, maybe, she might get to spend the rest of her life watching Aziraphale be happy. Helping her be happy of course, but being  _there_ , that was the amazing part! Aziraphale was good at being happy, when given the space and the love and just...allowed to be herself.)

Of course, Crowley enjoyed the sights too. She adored the Hagia Sophia, and loved even more just roaming the steep hills, and the day they took the ferry across the Horn and sat on a quiet bench under some trees on the Asian side of the city that spanned two continents. She also enjoyed the food of course, eating as lavishly and widely as Aziraphale did and savouring every moment. She wasn't quite as vocal about it, was all – not about the food, or the sights, or the beauty of the ancient city.

_*_

Crowley was in her favourite spot in the world, her face buried between her girlfriend's legs, nose bumping her clit as she lapped and licked and darted her tongue in and then here and there, the quick, rhythmless teasing that always reduced Aziraphale to absolute jelly. It worked this time too; she could hear her lady moaning, muffled by her own arm (their hotel room wasn't  _that_ soundproof), her thighs tense over Crowley's shoulders. She groaned and shifted, encouraging Aziraphale to clamp those powerful thighs around her head and oh glorious day  _she did_ .

Crowley licked and suckled and nosed and licked some more, tasting Aziraphale's sharp flavour, encouraging her through one orgasm, then another, encouraging her to stay in the intense pleasure for as long as she could until it became too sharp, and Crowley slipped away between now-lax legs, because now it was time for afterglow and cuddles.

“Delicious,” she said, and licked her lips, and went to go lie beside Aziraphale, already holding one arm out and moaning Crowley's name.


	16. Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale cuddle, and talk about how they met and got together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off -- thank you to everyone who helped me fill this prompt, it was so helpful!
> 
> Also, this is a slightly odder one; it's set in an AU I started writing for Whumptober, and haven't had time to fully expand into its own universe. You can read the first two short stories [here ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822494/chapters/66668629) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822494/chapters/66772714). To know for this story, though -- human, modern, and Aziraphale is blind. (Lest you worry, Aziraphale is not a whumpee because of her blindness at all. (It's because she's marrying Crowley. And the second story has Crowley as the wholly predictable whumpee...))

“Come and make an arrangement of yourself in my arms,” Aziraphale announced. She was sat up on the bed, cushioned by pillows and the wall of the yurt, and held her arms out.

“Oh my God, you're so unbearable when you're high,” Crowley said, although of course she also set her wineglass down (her own mind-altering substance of choice) and settled on Aziraphale's lap, arranging herself as requested, her head resting on Aziraphale's shoulder.

“Well you're always unbearable,” Aziraphale informed her, and kissed her.

“You're my girlfriend, what's that say about you?” Crowley shot back, and nuzzled her throat where it always made her gasp, then melt.

“Your tits make up for a lot,” Aziraphale informed her, and Crowley laughed so hard she really _did_ need Aziraphale to hold her in place.

“I adore you,” Crowley told her, and got a soft kiss in return.

“I love you too,” Aziraphale said, and frowned. “You know that, right? That I'm just teasing?”

“I know,” Crowley soothed, and kissed her cheek. Aziraphale had taken her glasses off, and it was a nice treat to see her whole face. Her eyes were unusual, but Crowley was used to them by now, and loved to get to see them, the soft blue-grey iris. Also, right now she was cross-eyed and it was unspeakably cute as all fuck. “I love you, angel, you silly thing.” More kisses. “We made good and sure we loved each other before we even really dated, yeah?”

Aziraphale eased, both at Crowley's words and, presumably, as the edible continued to hit. “We did,” she said, a silly smile that needed kissing crossing her mouth. All right, all right, Crowley could admit it privately, her girlfriend was a genius to get Crowley into her arms like this. She felt so snug and small and tender. One of Aziraphale's arms was wrapped around her shoulders, the other slung over her legs, fingertips walking softly up her bare skin and dipping just under the bottom of her shorts.

“Our little arrangement,” Crowley said, and turned her head to kiss Aziraphale's collarbone. 

“Did you hate it?” Aziraphale asked softly. “I know you were mad after me from the start, and it wasn't like I _didn't_ like you...”

“Wot? No, I loved it!” Crowley laughed. “I loved going slow, I really did. Not just 'cause, well, I had to go slow _physically_ for awhile there.”

Aziraphale giggled and rubbed her leg, touching the scar on her ankle, sensitive fingertips tracing it out. “Poor little love...”

“Yes, I was,” Crowley said with great dignity. “I was seriously injured and required a great deal of care.” 

“Yes, that's why you were moving faster than me two weeks in,” Aziraphale said dryly. “You are disgusting, you fit little creature.”

Crowley laughed and gave Aziraphale a little squeeze. “I was highly motivated. But going back to my original point – no, darling, I never minded going slow. It was what you asked for, so there was simply no question of doing otherwise.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a long moment. “Oh,” she finally said softly. “I...yes. When you put it like that, it was...not an ultimatum, but...”

“But what kind of monster would I be, to pressure you to kiss me, or make love to me, or even call what we did dating?” Crowley said. “And I _did_ love it, for the record. I liked...savouring. Learning everything about you, and what made you happy and made you sad. I liked that you cared. About me. About my comfort, and not just the whole broken ankle thing but...what makes me tick. I felt seen.”

A distinct pause.

“That was not _remotely_ funny,” Crowley said, as Aziraphale howled with laughter. “God, you're a dork when you're high. Laughing at _blind_ jokes.”

“I'm a dork when I'm not high,” Aziraphale managed, in between giggles. “Same as you. Face it, Crowley, we're doomed to be together.”

Crowley laughed, and dotted kisses all over Aziraphale's throat and face and her mouth, always coming back to her mouth, because if this was doomed, she'd take it and ask for more.


	17. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After twenty years of marriage, there's not much Aziraphale and Crowley don't know about each other. There's one secret, still -- sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my [Castle Terra AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801759).
> 
> cw: vague, un-described mention of transphobic violence

“You've been married for what, twenty years now?” Elsie asked.

Crowley paused to do the math. “Something like that?'” she hazarded, squinting a little at the world.

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale said. “Twenty-one years this autumn.”

“Awwwww,” Ilvis cooed, and got a hug from Aziraphale. “You're so cute.”

“ _You're_ the one that's good at math,” Aziraphale accused.

“ _You're_ more sober than I am,” Crowley accused right back. She was sprawled by the fire, her head on Elsie's lap, and was being petted and feeling really _quite_ smug about it. Not that cuddles from Ilvis were second-best or anything, just...she loved Elsie's bony knees under her cheek, and the way her fingers eased the tight bits where her hair was braided. So they were both winning, really.

“You must know each other perfectly,” Elsie marvelled. “No secrets or anything. I can't...I envy you.”

Crowley hugged her legs and turned to kiss Elsie's hand, to give her something she could feel. “It's extraordinary, to be so known,” she admitted, and Aziraphale nodded.

“Not that I'm any good about _not_ nattering on about myself,” she admitted, and smiled. “How long until I was telling you about my scar?”

“Like two days?” Crowley guessed.

“About a week, I guess. But it was a very _hurried_ explanation,” Elsie said dryly. “There were extenuating circumstances, though.”

Aziraphale giggled, and explained. “We had gone to a party and were about to fuck in a grotto.”

“I might win for longest,” Ilvis said, impressed. “I think Elsie told me just before you lot came to visit us and Asha in Gaia. But I'd known who you were before then, from letters and stuff.”

Aziraphale smiled. “You might, then.” She shrugged. “No point in keeping stuff about me from folks, you know? Most of what could be secrets – well, they're not hidden. And I don't care if people know I like sweeties or whatever.”

“I fully support that, it means it's easier to give you treats you'll like,” Ilvis teased, rubbing Aziraphale's belly. They smiled at each other and Ilvis kissed her forehead, and they spoke of other things.

Later that night, they were undressing, and Crowley was quiet. Aziraphale let her be, of course; no point in bugging her, and sometimes a body just liked to be quiet. They did have quite the peaceful little ritual, changing and washing faces and cleaning teeth and the like, and Aziraphale always braided her hair loosely to try and keep the curls tamed.

She wasn't terribly surprised, though, when Crowley rolled towards her in bed, her face just barely visible in the dim of night. There was just the  _feeling_ that she wanted to talk.

Start with kindness, though. That was always best, so Aziraphale wriggled her arms around her darling and cuddled her, and kissed her forehead. “What is it, love?” she murmured.

“I do have a secret,” Crowley said quietly. “ _My_ scar...”

Aziraphale moved her hand to touch the odd, dark scar on the side of Crowley's face. A wiggly little thing, slightly raised under her fingertips. She had never asked after it, and never would. “You know that's yours to tell – or not,” she said.

Crowley smiled and kissed her. “I know. But I still feel...odd. Keeping things from you, in a way. But I can't...the words don't  _come_ .”

“All right,” Aziraphale said. “It was when you lived at home, though, right?”

Crowley nodded.

“Someone hurt you on purpose, didn't they?” Aziraphale asked, very softly and gently. “I mean, this wasn't an accident.”

“No, it wasn't,” Crowley said. “Um. This is good. To just say yes or no.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Good. The person who hurt you, was it your mum?”

A shake of the head.

“Your father?” Aziraphale asked gently, and Crowley nodded. 

“Don't say anymore,” she said quickly, and pressed herself even deeper into Aziraphale's arms. “Sorry, sorry, sorry...”

“Shhh, shhh, hush. Hush, my dearest,” Aziraphale soothed. “You have nothing in the world to be sorry for, my brave girl. There, I know a little more than I did before, and we won't talk of it again.”

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale simply held her, waiting for whatever she needed, to cry or be alone or make love or be held and cuddled all night. Whatever she needed, she'd get. Poor darling; to be hurt just for  _being_ ! Aziraphale was going to protect her forever. She had twenty years down, and reckoned she'd have a lot more to go. Already Crowley had spent far more of her life loved and living as herself than not; it was a good start.

To her surprise, though, Crowley simply – fell asleep. And slept long and deep through the night, and so did Aziraphale, both of them hardly moving, so that they were still holding each other when they woke the next day.


	18. Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley didn't *mean* to forget to pick up milk, is what you should know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my [Renovations AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723783), roughly canon-verse but with my own additions and divergences. (Most if which don't matter for this story, though it's useful to know that Crowley sometimes needs mobility aides, and often/usually uses they/them pronouns. And Aziraphale is very butch and handsome.)

“Don't forget the milk, darling,” Aziraphale called over her shoulder from where she was taking an axe to the fallen branches they were turning into firewood.

“Wouldn't dream of it, angel,” Crowley called back. Of course they could just miracle up some milk for their tea or whatever, but Aziraphale did like doing things the old-fashioned way. And since Crowley was running out to pick up a few odds and ends anyway, a stop at the grocery wouldn't be any hardship.

Besides, maybe a grateful Aziraphale would gather her up in an embrace, and Crowley would get to press themself against her warm, strong, muscular body...well, a body could dream when going out into the cold world of a lovely spring day in their beloved car.

They swerved to avoid a slow-moving person at an intersection, ignored the beeping and yelling, and carried on their merry way, driven by warm memories of their angel.

The first trouble came at the Garden Centre.  _Imps_ . Bloody little imps everywhere! They weren't fomenting evil, exactly, but Crowley watched a bag of mulch spill open and three people drop ceramic pots and they really just wanted to get in and out. Of course, they could do as they liked and not be noticed – they were still a demon _,_ if a thoroughly domesticated one – so it was entirely possible to chase them off. At least their legs were relatively human; it was awfully satisfying to simply wave their crutch around and scatter the little beasts while still managing to stay upright.

(That said, they  _had_ once mowed down a succubus in their wheelchair, and that had been downright fun. Said succubus had been trying her hand at getting Aziraphale to fall, which Aziraphale found rather flattering, really, and Crowley had found very, very annoying, at least until Aziraphale tried to mimic the succubus' barely-there underwear. Silver linings, and all!)

So, imps. Should've been the first clue. Next was a hellhound in the bloody town centre, though! Not  _the_ hellhound, Dog was still living out his days very happily, but  _a_ hellhound, this one  _actually_ a great helly-hellhound with the red eyes and the slavering mouth and the lots of teeth.

Crowley sighed. They didn't really have time for this, but they'd have to handle it if they wanted to pop into the dry-goods store and buy some more thread. Aziraphale was patching up their favourite skirt, and  _did_ like to have non-miracled things, and there were a few other necessaries Crowley wanted to pick up, plus the girl there made corsets, and Crowley wanted to sweeten her up. They rather missed the sensation of boning from chest to hips, and had a hunch it might help on the days when they  _almost_ didn't even need a crutch. 

The battle with the hellhound was a fair bit harder, but Crowley was the victor in the end, and they were already kind of limping along, so the bite on their leg just...fit in.

Also, they got an appointment to get measured for a corset, so that was all very well done.

Even that wasn't the end of their afternoon, though. Unfortunately.

Aziraphale frowned a little, sniffing the air. Crowley  _never_ smelt like sulphur anymore! Well, hardly ever. Just if they ate too many onions, and even then it wasn't this hellish kind of sulphur. That was...odd.

She looked up as Crowley came in. Limping heavily on their crutch, their hair bedraggled and soaked, their make-up smeared and their dress...singed? Yes, that was definitely singed.

“Angel,” Crowley moaned, dropping into a nearby chair. “You are not going to believe the day I've just had.”

“Oh, dearest.” Aziraphale patted their knee. Poor darling, they looked like they'd been through the wars. She sniffed the air and detected...ah, yes. Canine, and myrrh and charcoal. Gosh, Crowley had been through it. She also very specifically did _not_ notice something.

“Darling,” she said tactfully. But, well, she _had_ asked. “Darling, did you forget the milk after all?”

Crowley simply moaned and covered their face with their hands, which Aziraphale decided was a yes.

“Oh _Crowley_!”


	19. Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Aziraphale away for work, Crowley finds a note she wrote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my [Bike Girls AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997386), although they are, for once, not giant disasters in this story :)

Crowley had a lot of talents. She wasn't the kind who doubted her own skill, really. She _knew_ she was good at riding a bike, and writing Amish romances, and getting a corporate Instagram account to suck slightly less. She reckoned she was a pretty good lover, a great girlfriend, and a good driver. So there was a lot she was good at.

Which was why she knew, quite firmly, that she was _very good_ at pouting. And right now she was doing a lot of pouting, because her girlfriend had finally _just_ moved in, and almost immediately had to run off to Scotland for a fortnight for some kind of book repair course.

Crowley was happy for her, of course; she was going to learn so much and half the money that ran the used bookshop in town came from repairs, and now she might be able to take on harder (and thus more expensive) projects. It was a fabulous opportunity, and she was proud as punch when she drove Aziraphale to the train station and sent her on her way with a kiss and a bag of pastries.

But. _But_. Now she had two weeks alone in her house without her cute girlfriend.

It might have been rough enough before Aziraphale moved in – after all, they spent quite a lot of time together, and more nights than not shared a bed at one or the other of their homes. Aziraphale had been reluctant to give up her flat, and Crowley had understood. Poor love; her weird family and Gabrielle's abuse were going to cast a long shadow over her life, and Crowley would definitely yeet herself off of a cliff (...again, she remembered a little guiltily, but on purpose this time) before she pressured Aziraphale into _anything_ relationship-y before she was ready.

But now, almost a decade after they started dating, Aziraphale had decided not to renew her lease, and instead moved in with Crowley, taking the middle bedroom as her office/her own space. They had spent a very happy weekend integrating their things (to say nothing of integrating their _bodies_ atop a pile of flattened boxes) and now there were reminders of Aziraphale _everywhere_.

And Crowley missed her, okay? She missed her girlfriend a lot, and so she moped and pouted and was happy for Aziraphale and really sad for herself, and moped around some more. Two weeks wasn't much, really, but it felt like an _age_ while it was happening, and while she slept on Aziraphale's sheets and cooked in her crockpot and oh all right, cuddled her pillow at night, while one of her framed prints hung over the bed. It was a Georgia O'Keeffe, which just seemed extra-mean.

(Crowley also had easy access to Aziraphale's sex toy collection now, but was too glum to make much use of it.)

So instead she glummed her way around the house, wandering and feeling very lonely and sad and missing her girlfriend. She slipped into the room that had become Aziraphale's office, of a sort, though it still held a small bed, perfect for a nap. Or a little afternoon delight. Maybe one or the other would cheer her up?

Something crinkled as Crowley lay down, and she rolled over a bit, digging under one of the pillows – there!

It was a folded letter with her name written on it. “All right, all right, I'm predictable,” Crowley grumbled aloud. “Don't get smug over this, maybe I was just coming in here to dust, you know.”

Right, because she'd ever dusted before  _in her life_ .

God, this was going to be sentimental, wasn't it? Crowley hated sentiment and she hated it when Aziraphale was sentimental because it melted her and made her feel soft and loved, and that was just deeply unfair. So with a deep breath, knowing what was coming, she opened the note.

_Jesus Christ, Crowley, did anyone ever teach you about privacy??_

Crowley paused, rested the letter on her chest, and laughed so hard she cried _._ Being known and seen and understood was the absolute  _worst_ .

_There, now that I've got your attention! You silly girl, are you here being sad? You only ever lie down on my bed when you're blue and don't know how to ask for help, so I'm assuming so._

_I'm sorry I had to go away so soon after such a happy time. I love you for understanding, and being sad for yourself and happy for me. You are_ amazing _. You really are. My poor glum girl; I'll be back soon and we can fuck on every surface of the house – again – and cuddle and build our lives together. It'll be fabulous, and you'll forget these two weeks, and that you were ever lonely._

_Stay in my room tonight. Cuddle up on my little bed and smell my perfume and my candles. You're so generous, to give me a room of my own, a place that is wholly my own; let me give it back to you just for tonight. Be warm and safe and comfortable, all right? Read my books and sleep, and I'll sleep. And I'll be home again soon, but until then, my things can be an avatar for my love._

_There, was that silly and romantic enough for you? I hope so. You make me very, very silly indeed. It's good for me, I guess. I can't believe anyone could miss me, some days, but then you do. And it feels amazing._

_All my love,_

_Aziraphale_

Crowley smiled and hugged the note a little. It was very silly and romantic, and utterly perfect. They were going to facetime that night when Aziraphale got back to her hotel room, and of course she'd be home soon. It was silly to be so sad, but her girl didn't even mind! She understood! It was extraordinary.

“I found your note,” Crowley said later, when they talked. She was tucked up in the bed in the middle room, and it _did_ smell like Aziraphale, her candles and perfume and her general self. She'd taken it over some years before; they really had practically lived together. (To say nothing of – well, it was easier to be in Crowley's house when she was injured, so that was a thing.)

“Good,” Aziraphale said, face softening. “Poor love, are you really lonely?”

Crowley shrugged. “A little. I miss you. I'm keeping busy and all. How's the course going?”

“I love it,” Aziraphale admitted, going a little pink. “I'm getting a lot of ideas for how to get more clients, too. I can really make a difference with this – to the shop, I mean, and of course to people who have something they want fixed. But you know things can get so rough in the off-season, there aren't _that_ many villagers buying antique books...”

“You're gonna be amazing,” Crowley consoled. “Anathema already likes you better than she likes Newt, I think, this is going to send her over the moon.”

Aziraphale giggled, going even pinker. “Still! I'm learning so much. I miss you, but I'm really glad I came.”

“I'll be here waiting for you,” Crowley promised. “Well, I mean, I'll be there picking you up from the train station, but _until_ then, waiting here. Um.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “Not long now. I mean, really not long. I promise I'll make it up to you.”

“You don't owe me anything!” Crowley protested. “This is a really, really important and good thing for you. Azi, you don't owe me because you're tending to yourself.”

“Forgive me, I said that badly, I think,” Aziraphale said. “How about – I'll be home soon, and I _would_ like to do something special with you. Will you think about what you'd like? Otherwise it'll be a fancy dinner out and some exciting new underwear for both of us again.”

Crowley laughed. “You know I love those nights. But I'll think about something else. Maybe a picnic?”

Aziraphale tilted her head to one side. “I haven't had to take medical leave in years, that might work...”

“Oi!” Crowley was laughing, protesting. “We've had picnics since then!”

“Well, all right then. A picnic, for my girl, when I get back.” Aziraphale grinned wider. “And some exciting new underwear.”

“I love you,” Crowley said happily. They chatted a little longer, mostly about small things, until Aziraphale had to get ready for bed. Considering how she was yawning, Crowley was fixing to kick her off the call anyway.

“Sweet dreams,” she said. “And I _am_ spending the night in your bed, so there.”

Aziraphale giggled, and yawned again. “I love you so, so much, my Crowley-girl. Dream well. I'll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” Crowley said softly. “I love you too. Sweet dreams, honey.” 

The call ended, she curled up in bed and hugged a pillow very tightly, just for a moment. Just another week to go, and they'd live together, fall asleep together every night, go on picnics and fancy dinners and un-fancy dinners and running to the cafe of a Saturday morning. Soon.


	20. History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment in history, for an angel and a demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-verse, historical.

“Isn't it fascinating?” Aziraphale waved the small book around. “One of hundreds! All done in just a few weeks' time, no need for a scriptorium or anything!”

Crowley leaned back, gently dodging the Bible. It wouldn't cause her lasting harm in and of itself, not like it was holy water, just...Aziraphale had an arm on her, and Crowley didn't fancy getting a black eye from her very enthusiastic sworn enemy/best friend and her interest in this new technology.

“Wasn't someone out east printing already?” Crowley asked warily, ducking again, this time when Aziraphale waved to someone to bring a round of ales to them.

“Oh, yes, of course, but this is on our home patch!” Aziraphale said excitedly. “It's going to change everything, Crowley!”

“Would this have anything to do with that year you worked in the scriptorium?” Crowley asked idly, pretty sure she wasn't about to get whanged by anything, so it was safe to take a gulp of ale. “And you were bored out of your mind.”

“I was not!”  
“That's not what you said when we met up afterwards,” Crowley mumbled, but let it go. It was best to not get in _those_ kinds of fights with Aziraphale.

“It absolutely was not! Besides, there'll still be a place for...for the art of hand-lettering!” Aziraphale sniffed. “But there's so much more now! Crowley, isn't it wonderful, being a part of history?”

Crowley couldn't help a genuine smile, and was properly disgusted with herself for it. But Aziraphale's enthusiasm was...not catching, but, well. _Sweet_. Endearing. Awful things like that.

“History's always happening, angel.”

“Oh, you know what I mean!” Aziraphale's tone was fussy and annoyed, but she smiled at Crowley and looked up through her eyelashes as she sipped her ale, so that was all right.


	21. Cuddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes there's no helping the bad thing you're going through -- but a walk and a cuddle and some love can make it so much easier to bear. (Crowley knew this already, but now she gets to learn it again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my [Castle Terra](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801759) universe, about a month after the first chapter of [Horses Really Do Hate Crowley](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135313/chapters/66264553).
> 
> cw: mention of a (mildly) life-changing injury

“Ow! Ow, shit --” Crowley bit back a curse, curling around her arm. “Shit.”

“Oh, love, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Crowley said shortly. “Just being stupid. Don't mind me.”

“You've been stupid before and I still mind you,” Aziraphale said patiently. “Let me see – where's your splint?”

Crowley sighed. “I thought I could leave it off. But even just putting on a jacket...”

Aziraphale frowned. “Your arm isn't healed yet, Crowley.”

“Yes, I _know_.” Crowley scowled. “I'm just sick of wearing it. I want to use both arms. And look pretty, and wear gowns that aren't short-sleeved and _augh_ how can you _stand_ me right now?”

“I can't, actually,” Aziraphale said, and her blunt words brought Crowley up short – and made her laugh. Fuck, her wife was priceless, even if she did kind of want to murder her just then. Stupid understanding kind angel.

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said. “I can stand myself even less?”

“Want to bet?” Aziraphale asked dryly. “Crowley. Your arm was badly broken. It's been a _month_. If you're going to not take care of yourself, that's on you, it's your body. But I'd like you to be gentle with yourself, and wear the splint so your arm can heal, and be protected. You're just causing yourself more pain.”

“It won't heal, though,” Crowley mumbled. “Not all the way.”

Aziraphale touched Crowley's chin, and made her look up and meet her eyes. “And you are _furious_ aren't you?”

“It's really fucking annoying how you know how it feels,” Crowley said.

“I don't. I didn't get angry like you did, not exactly. But you're kind of easy to read, love.” Aziraphale sighed. “I love you, Crowley, but we do not like each other right now. May I help you get your arm settled, protected so it can heal, and kick you out so that you can get some fresh air and I can do some work?”

“Er. Yes, please,” Crowley admitted, her shoulders slumping. “I'm sorry, angel, just...I'm sorry.”

“I know you are,” Aziraphale said, and kissed the top of her head. “I love you. More than I did yesterday, and I'll love you more tomorrow. However if you don't get out of my Library, I shall throw you off of a parapet, and you thought _one_ broken arm was bad...”

Crowley laughed again, a real laugh, and relaxed while Aziraphale fetched one of the many, many baskets they had courtesy the Infirmary. “I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to find you threatening bodily harm comforting and funny.”  
“It's because you know in reality, I'd throw myself off first.” Aziraphale said. “I really do wish I could take this from you, Crowley.”

“I don't. You've had enough hurt to last your whole life,” Crowley said, as Aziraphale got to work, settling her arm on a pillow and wrapping it first in a soft layer of linen, before settling the long wooden pieces of the splint in place, and then wrapping over them. She tried to ignore how there was a funny bend in her forearm, how it hurt, how it wouldn't ever go back to the way it was.

Aziraphale's hands were clever, and she made a beautiful job of it, even wrapping the linen bandages in a pretty pattern, leaving Crowley's fingertips and thumb free, but stilling everything from her hand to halfway up her upper arm. A sling to help bear the weight and remind her to keep still, and Crowley was ready for the world again.

Aziraphale helped her into a light, lacy shawl to protect against chills as the evening came on, one of her own. The pale colours were striking against Crowley's dark gown. It smelled like her, and Crowley was ashamed of how she'd acted, from taking the splint off on up.

“Go walk out in the sunshine and get some fresh air into you,” Aziraphale ordered. “I'll have a drink waiting for you, but you have _got_ to stretch your legs a bit. No wonder you're going batty.”

“And so you can get some work done?” Crowley asked, as Aziraphale walked her to the door of the Library. It had rained for the last week, and only now did summer seem to return. Aziraphale's limp was easing off at least; it had been a bit painful this time 'round.

“Possibly.” Aziraphale smiled and kissed Crowley, and touched her fingers where they stuck out of the bandages and the sling. “I love you. Come back here when you're done?”

“Promise.” Crowley kissed her cheek and took herself off to try and shake the...everything she was feeling. The pain and the being scared, the feeling bratty and frustrated and the sense of why bother, for they knew now she'd always have some limitations in this arm, it would always be weaker and couldn't move in the same ways, and would always look funny.

Well, maybe it made sense she felt the way she did, she reckoned, as she did what always helped best: to walk the castle and grounds she loved, to explore her familiar home and let the wind blow her red curls free and the sun shine on her and to stretch her legs a little, wandering the castle gardens.

The sun had set when she returned to the Library, having taken a little ramble well out of the castle grounds and well, it had helped. Her arm still hurt, but Crowley felt like a person. Possibly a person who owed her wife an apology, and she knocked softly at the door before letting herself in.

Aziraphale looked up from her desk with an expression of surprise. “Love! Since when do you knock!”

Crowley smiled at her. “Since I owe you an apology. Are you done work? D'you want a sherry?”

“What on earth are you going on about? And yes, I am and yes, I do.” Aziraphale cleaned her pen and took up the candle she'd been writing by, carrying it over to the little sitting area and using it to light a few lamps, a cozy glow in the last rays of the setting sun.

Crowley took care of their drinks and handed Aziraphale's her glass with a kiss. “I was unbearable.”

“You absolutely were not,” Aziraphale said. “I'm sorry – I was too harsh with you. Will you forgive me?”

“If you forgive me for being reckless,” Crowley said, and settled down beside Aziraphale. They weren't quite touching, sat side-by-side on a little sofa, but, well, The _option_ was there.

“Done,” Aziraphale said swiftly.

“Then done,” Crowley said, and finally gave up and rested her head on Aziraphale's shoulder, letting her wife cuddle her close. “I don't know why I'm ...like that.”

“You have a lot to process, all while you're in pain,” Aziraphale said gently. “It's not unexpected. D'you feel better though?”

“Uh huh,” Crowley admitted. “It doesn't fix everything. But it's...I can deal with it all now.” Aziraphale was so lovely and soft and nice to cuddle up to.

“Good,” Aziraphale said softly, and shifted so she held Crowley more firmly, and could kiss the wild winds from her hair. “If it's nice tomorrow, we should both go for a walk. The worst of my work is done now.”

“How's your hip?” Crowley asked, nuzzling into Aziraphale's neck, in between sips of sherry.

“Far better. Lingering soreness, but I think I'll be walking just fine tomorrow.”

“Good,” Crowley said, eyes fluttering shut as Aziraphale stroked her good arm. “I feel better too. Hurts less. You're a good nurse.”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “Am I? Good. I'm sorry you're having a rough time of it. The worst will be over soon.”

Crowley finished her drink and crawled fully into Aziraphale's lap for a real, proper cuddle. “I'm scared.”  
“Me too. Let's be scared together, we'll be stronger for it,” Aziraphale advised, and squeezed Crowley tight. “And be glad it was your arm and not your neck.”

“There is that.” Crowley found her mouth, and sipped two sweet, deep kisses. “God, I love you.”

“I love _you_. We're neither of us perfect, Crowley. But we'll get by.”

“More than get by.” Crowley smiled, now firmly ensconced in warm angel. “I can still finger you with either hand, after all.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale burst out laughing, and kissed the point of Crowley's cheekbone. “You!”

“Me,” Crowley agreed happily, and nuzzled the very softest part of Aziraphale, right under her chin, all while being petted and kissed and fussed over.

A walk and a cuddle wouldn't fix everything. There wasn't really fixing this, just getting through. But she would; and with even more cuddles, she reckoned, settling in in Aziraphale's arms, being kissed and loved and petted, and it helped. It really did.


	22. Body Positivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amidst helping one of her chosen ones, Aziraphale learns about the existence of push-up bras.
> 
> Shortly thereafter, so does Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my [Renovations](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723783) universe -- pretty much canon, with some changes that only slightly come up in this story :)

“You call us if you still feel blue tomorrow,” Aziraphale said, hugging Aelis tightly. “We're not going back to the house until after Teddy's gallery opening.”

Aelis hugged her back, burying her face between Aziraphale's neck and shoulder. “I will. I love you. 'm sorry...”

“Hush now.” Aziraphale stroked her back and kissed the girl's cheek. “No apologies, you know that. I love you so much, my girl. Sometimes it's hard having a body, eh?”

Aelis laughed sadly, and touched her belly, big and round and soft. “Yeah, it really is. It's not even all the health stuff, which seems...dumb. I have so much more to worry about and instead I just want to be thin. Am I fucked up?”

“No. I've seen a lot over my years,” Aziraphale said tactfully. “I've seen how...being told you should look a certain way, it burrows into your brain. But you are perfect exactly as you are, my girl.” She squeezed Aelis' shoulder, soft and round, a lot like hers. “Annie thinks so too.”

Aelis blushed and laughed. “She's my _wife_ , she basically has to...”

“Really? Crowley's basically my wife and some day I'm going to launch her out of a window and no jury would convict,” Aziraphale said, and Aelis laughed harder.

“I'll call you. Or text you. I promise.” She held her arms up and Aziraphale bent over again to hug her firmly, loving her as hard as she could.

“Mind how you go,” she said, and kissed Aelis' cheek and stroked her hair, each touch grounding her a little more in her body. Reminding her to take up space, reminding her she was worthy and good and right. Aziraphale was still a little wobbly on the concept of God's creatures, but Aelis, by virtue of being queer, was one of _hers_ , and her children were beautiful and perfect, always.

She finally let the girl go, holding the door for her and making a mental note to add some kind of automatic opening mechanism; not everyone was Crowley who could just snap her fingers if she was using a chair.

Aziraphale watched Aelis until she turned the corner, a little worried. This hatred for one's body always made her distinctly uncomfortable. A little because she knew how it could hurt, how deeply it could sicken one, and a little because she knew the feeling all too well.

Aelis would be all right, though, she comforted herself. She was here in London to see her parents who were no help at all, but had plenty of time to see Aziraphale and Crowley, to be comforted and cuddled, and she had her own loving wife waiting for her back in Scotland. These were just some rough times; Aziraphale had had them herself and pulled through. It was slow work, but sometimes months went by, now, when she loved her round, wobbly body, and didn't think about being told to lose the gut. Still, sometimes she looked at the way her belly rested on her thighs, and it didn't feel good.

She firmly made herself a cup of tea, found a fruit tart in the back of the icebox, and physicked herself with those and a good dose of erotic ancient Greek poetry while tucked up in a corner of the bookshop. Crowley was out doing Crowley-things but would be back for supper; there was a new Thai restaurant that they were both simply _dying_ to try.

“Hullo angel!” The happy call and the bang of the door and Crowley strode back to their usual spot, finding Aziraphale unerringly.

“My darling.” Aziraphale looked up and tilted her face for a kiss, and smiled when Crowley threw herself down on her lap, cuddling close for a more impressive kiss. “Gosh, you're in a mood.”

“You smell amazing. You been angel-ing?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale laughed and got the book out of the way and her arms around Crowley. “I have, actually. It makes me smell good?”

“Uh huh. Crowley buried her face in Aziraphale's neck and breathed deep. “Who's been hurting our children?”

“The entire Western world,” Aziraphale said dryly. “Aelis came by. She's having a hard time with her body, poor love.”

“Oh, no,” Crowley said sadly. “I thought she was good with the chair now – it's so much less tiring for her than the crutches were.”

“Not that aspect of her body,” Aziraphale said gently. “It's her, well, her weight I suppose. Her bloody _parents_ – if you wanted to take someone out, I wouldn't stop you there.”

Crowley hissed. “Oh, my poor girl. And Annie so far away from her.”

“Mmm. I do the best I can, of course, but...”

“ _You_ are perfect,” Crowley reminded her, and cupped her face in her hands for a kiss. “My Aziraphale. She'll be by again soon?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Most likely. And she promised to text or call me, if she still feels low, and she knows that means getting both of us.” Aziraphale had her own phone now, at last, but goodness knew they passed it back and forth as often as they always had with Crowley's mobile.

“Good girl.” Crowley situated herself more firmly in Aziraphale's arms. “She deserves to feel good about herself.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale said softly, beginning to stroke Crowley's hair. Oh, she did love her wife so.

“And you, angel?”

A little tug on a shining red curl. “You needn't worry about me, demon.”

“Tough, I do. Tell me you feel good in your body?” Crowley requested, resting her hand on Aziraphale's plump upper arm.

“I feel all right,” Aziraphale acknowledged. “Not bad. Not...not in love with myself, or anything. But all right.”

“Mmmm.” Crowley's eyes narrowed.

“Please, just leave it,” Aziraphale said quietly, and got the most gentle, tender kiss of her entire life, which was really saying something. And a topic change. She got to keep the demon in her lap, though, cute and cuddly and kissing her regularly, and that was all right.

_**Aelis:** Hullo Auntie. I'm feeling better today, I just wanted to tell you. I love you. I'm sorry I was a mess yesterday._

_**Aziraphale:** My dearest, you have nothing to apologise for. I love you too, very much, and I'm glad you're doing better. You are perfect, you know._

_**Aelis:** LOL, I'm getting there. I spent last night talking to Annie – she sends her love – and filling my instagram feed with beautiful fat women. See? Link_

_**Aziraphale:** My goodness! She's lovely, but how is her bosom even doing that?_

_**Aelis:** Aziraphale, I know you're old-fashioned, but really! A push-up bra!_

_**Aziraphale:** You hush. Well. What an interesting garment._

_**Aelis:** Get one for yourself, bet you'll reduce Crowley to non-words._

_**Aziraphale:** Darling, I don't need a fancy bra for that._

_**Aelis:** I am laughing so hard. I adore you. I have to go meet my parents, please give Crowley kisses for me, and make her kiss you too._

_**Aziraphale:** Consider it done. We love you very much, and please have lunch with us before you leave town?_

_**Aelis:** Lunch and dinner and tea and drinks if I can, I promise. I miss you both so terribly. Go make Crowley useless now, Auntie._

Aziraphale smiled, rather proud of herself for learning to text so well. It _did_ make keeping in touch with all her children ever so much easier. And she learned so much!

She moved a few piles of books away and settled in front of her computer, pressing the little button to turn it on. When the DOS prompt began to blink, she carefully, precisely typed in 'Please show me push-up bras I can buy'.

The computer, which had been built in a time when the internet was still for wonks at various national defence departments and the world wide web was barely a dream, whirred softly as it showed Aziraphale a series of images, each lovelier and more impressive than the last until she spotted a bra she thought she might like, and carefully clicked on it.

That afternoon, a small package was delivered to the bookshop by a slightly confused but very well-tipped courier.

“Whazzat, love?” Crowley asked. She was lounging on the sofa not _quite_ day-drunk, but feeling very happy and relaxed after a boozy pub lunch.

“Oh, a new bra,” Aziraphale said absently. “Aelis showed me a picture of one like it, and I decided to try it out.” She spoke with the kind of careless breeze that meant she _knew_ Crowley was about to do something dramatic.

“Ooooh, always knew I liked that girl,” Crowley approved. “Is it see-through?”

“No, dearest.” Aziraphale carefully undid the packaging, and unfolded the tissue paper. “Oh my!”

“Lemme _see_ ,” Crowley whined, making grabby noises. “Wanna see.”

“You are a _child_ ,” Aziraphale informed her, but also began to unbutton her waistcoat, and the shirt underneath it. She was wearing quite sensible undergarments she thought, with only oh just a _bit_ of lace. Well, all right, mostly lace.

“Am I bad at being butch, darling?” she asked Crowley as she undid the clasp in back and shrugged off her brassiere.

“Not even a tiny bit,” Crowley said. “Why'd you get a new bra anyway? Not that I'm complaining.”

“It's a different style than I've worn before,” Aziraphale said, slipping it on and fastening it closed. “Oh! Good lord, one could suffocate.”  
“Huh?” Crowley watched curiously while Aziraphale turned around.

Crowley fell off of the sofa.

“Oh _really_ ,” Aziraphale said, hands on hips.

“Hnnnghhhhhhh,” Crowley wheezed.

“You are being ridiculous.” Aziraphale poked one of her breasts, admittedly a little fascinated. “Good God, they're up around my _neck_.”

Crowley made a noise like a teakettle.

“Oh, you are useless.” Aziraphale said, turning sideways to look at herself in a convenient mirror. “My goodness, I see why these became...a thing. They're quite, ah, transformative.”

“Holy shit, your titties,” Crowley wheezed from the floor.

“Yes, dearest,” Aziraphale said. “Gosh, I don't think my shirt will fit right with this.” She shrugged and snapped her fingers, now clad in a very pretty sundress, cut a bit low. The waist nipped in, showing off her figure, and a fluffy crinoline poufed the skirt out attractively. She turned the other way and admired the shoes she'd given herself, and, well, the overall effect.

“Now you're doing that on purpose,” Crowley whined, finally dragging herself off of the floor and coming closer to get her hands on her angel.

“Good of you to notice,” Aziraphale said, still peering down at her transformed bosom. “ _Gosh_.”

“Please tell me if this isn't all right,” Crowley said, before simply planting her face in Aziraphale's breasts.

“You are an embarrassment to all human, demon and angel kind,” Aziraphale told her.

_**Aziraphale:** Hello, lovely Aelis. How are you today?_

_**Aelis:** I'll be best of all when I can take you and Crowley out to lunch. I'm good, I think. I feel good in my body today._

_**Aziraphale:** I'm so glad, darling. And we would love to take you out to lunch if you're free today. By the by, I bought one of those push-up bras! Very modern silhouette._

_**Aelis:** You're not distracting me at all, Auntie, I'm treating you both. But wow, did Crowley survive??_

_**Aziraphale:** You know her so well. She can even make words again today._

_**Aelis:** Aziraphale, you are so mean._

_**Aziraphale:** I know, it's ever so much fun._

_**Aelis:** I love you._

_**Aziraphale:** I know. I love you too, my beautiful girl._


	23. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not that Aziraphale means to be but, well -- she's a *tease*, and Crowley needs to wail about it to a friend. And then give in to the inevitable. (Sex. The inevitable is sex.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my [Bike Girls AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997386), just after Crowley and the Extremely On-Brand Proposal. Human AU, they are both disasters, and this is just post-disaster. (And, er, as you can guess, a proposal!)
> 
> CW: aftermath of injuries, explicit sex in the latter half of the story
> 
> (PS -- if you're familiar with Castle Terra, my OC Asha makes a little cameo here! She's not exactly the same, but mostly so :) )

“Sorry, I'm really not as good a nurse as...anyone, really,” Asha apologised. “Especially not Aziraphale.”

Crowley laughed and tried to help her mop up the water that had spilled down her front. “Aziraphale has had practise. Please don't be sorry, Asha, you're a lifesaver.”

Asha just smiled, and they tried again, this time Crowley actually getting a drink of water. With her arms in plaster, she needed help with...most things, really, especially eating and drinking. Straws could only do so much. And with Aziraphale off for the day at a doctor's appointment, someone really did need to stay with Crowley.

“Well, I can keep you alive 'til she gets back, anyway,” Asha said cheerfully. “Ooooh, is that your engagement ring?”

Crowley preened, moving her arm the little she could to show it off. “Uh huh! Just arrived. Although, honestly, the whole swathes of plaster would probably suffice as a kind of token of our betrothal.”

Asha laughed out loud. “You utter disasters, it  _would_ be more you.” She smiled and touched Crowley's forearm. “I know Aziraphale should be all right, but you're going to be okay too, yeah?”

“Right as rain in a few weeks,” Crowley said with a smile for their old friend. “I promise. I didn't even need surgery or anything.”

“Good,” Asha said, and helped Crowley get a little more comfortable. 'Would heal' wasn't the same as 'not uncomfortable now', and it did help if she could recline a bit and keep her arms up on pillows. “Oof, you two. Is it really hard, when you're both laid up?”

“Mmm, a bit. It doesn't happen often. I hate it, when she's hurting and I can't do much,” Crowley admitted. “Or times like now. She ought to rest a lot more than she does, and not worry over things, but she's honestly the more mobile of us in a lot of ways.”

Asha smiled. “She loves you, Crowley. Maybe caring for you brings her joy?”

Crowley ducked her head and smiled. “Still...”

“Trust me, I know this,” Asha said dryly. “I love the girl, but she can go _on_ about you.” 

Crowley grinned. “I'm not sorry at all. Although there are  _some_ things I miss, at least while we're still in the ouchy stages,” she sighed.

“Can I ask you something tacky?” Asha said.

“Yes, we can have sex like this,” Crowley said.

“Sorry,” Asha admitted, although they were both smiling. “I just...well, I'm curious, really. Aziraphale does _not_ tell me about that, bless her.”

“Yeah, all her energy goes into being a tease,” Crowley grumbled, while Asha snickered. “Don't you laugh at me, lass. You haven't seen her...well, existing. She's still _sexy._ I mean, she's always sexy, but it's like she isn't even trying and that's _worse_ ,” she wailed. “Also, uh. Not to get too into it...”

“I did ask,” Asha said.

“Well, basically we both spend a lot of time not fully clothed,” Crowley said. “Especially her, with her legs the way they are, poor dove. It's just...easier?”

Asha nodded kindly. “Ooof, yeah. I can see her...I mean, the two've you have been together forever now, and she's still, well, rather unconscious of how you feel about her, in a lot of ways. Like, in everyday life. I can see her accidentally being quite the tease.”

“You have _no idea_ ,” Crowley moaned, sliding further down. She winced when her arm hit a table, and was gently but firmly hauled back into place. “She's so sexy. She's _so_ sexy and cute and hot and aaaarghhh. A pair of broken legs change nothing.”

Asha patted Crowley on the head consolingly. “Poor horny ladies,” she cooed.

“Shut up. You got it easy, being aro-ace must be so _peaceful_ ,” Crowley muttered, and Asha fell off of the sofa, she laughed so hard.

“I adore you. Please can we have gossip time lots?” Asha asked, hugging Crowley's legs before she hauled herself back up to sit next to her. “It _is_ peaceful, for the record. Poor lady. You really have sex, though? Even with everything? That sounds like, well, an awful lot of work.”

“Uh huh,” Crowley confirmed. “It takes a lot more planning, and we have to talk about it a lot more – make sure no one's hurting too much or anything. But we can make love, with adaptations. Not to tell you more than you're comfortable with, but – well, literally, we have adaptive stuff. Pillows and wedges, mostly, but also getting creative with...things. I mean, this is temporary for us, but it's not for some people, and they're the real, uh, sexual trailblazers.”

“Of course,” Asha agreed. “Aw, sweetheart. I'm sorry she's a tease.”

“Don't be,” Crowley said, giving into the smile. “She's...amazing. And a tease. But mostly amazing.”

“You have my permission to tease her right back,” Asha said, kissing the top of her head. “Are you hungry? I promise I won't accidentally kill you, probably.”

Crowley laughed, but they did get through lunch – carefully – together. And with only one shirt change required.

Getting ready for bed that night, Crowley was regretting her kind words earlier. Aziraphale  _was_ a tease. A completely unconscious one, so Crowley couldn't even be mad at her for it. They were both just in bra and panties, and Aziraphale was wiggling and moving her round arse, her breasts jiggling as she grunted and hauled herself from her wheelchair, and then her legs up and over, and collapsed back with a groan, said delicious legs naturally parted.

Crowley licked her lips. Aziraphale was wearing pink lace panties. They barely covered her bottom. Didn't at all, actually. The dark shadow of her pubic hair was visible, and with the way her legs were lying apart, the damp gusset was on display, a little too narrow to really cover her up. Her breasts were practically spilling out of her bra, pale blue netting and satin and oh  _God_ .

“Baby,” Crowley croaked, sitting up and twisting. If she could angle herself just right – yes! She could run her bared fingertips along Aziraphale's thigh. Just a few inches not covered by her casts, but oh, she was _so_ soft.

“You horny thing,” Aziraphale said, voice warm and easy.

“It's your fault,” Crowley moaned, and licked her lips. “Please? Please, please, please? I bet I could eat you out?”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “Only if you promise to sit on my face after. I think we can still manage that, don't you?” One of the strange advantages of all their mishaps – they'd worked around limitations before, and had a pretty good idea of what worked and what didn't.

Crowley nodded, and scooted around, moving out of the way. Aziraphale had special cushions for her legs, supporting the bend in the knee and letting her rest and relax, she just had to get them set up the way she liked.

Of course, they also had to undress the rest of the way, which meant Aziraphale undressing them both. With much grunting and wiggling and bending over, she got herself naked, first her breasts then her cunny, scraps of lingerie flung well out of the way. Crowley was easier, technically, but it also meant that she had to turn and kneel and feel Aziraphale undo her bra, slip it off, cup her breasts and kiss the back of her neck.

“You're gorgeous,” Aziraphale whispered. “Oh, my gorgeous. I love you, Crowley.”

“Panties,” Crowley moaned. She _needed_ to be between Aziraphale's legs. They'd have to figure out where to put all the limbs, her stupid broken arms, but there wasn't a thing wrong with her mouth.

“Panties coming up,” Aziraphale soothed, and slid her hand down the front of Crowley's, fingertips dipping between her labia, gliding over her clit and cooing when she found Crowley already wet. “You _are_ horny!”

“You've been wiggling around naked and you were so cute in your little dress and --” Crowley gave up and just moaned as Aziraphale finally, finally got her fully naked. “You tease.”

“Me?” Aziraphale cooed. “I'm just a chubby middle-aged woman, darling. After an accident, even!”

Crowley moaned again. “You're so beautiful.  _So beautiful_ . And smart and hot and sexy and please please can I eat you out now?”

Aziraphale laughed. “I love you. I really do, my wife-to-be. Oh!” At her words, Crowley had basically flung herself at Aziraphale, kissing her messily, moaning, licking her throat, the soft place that always made Aziraphale moan and go limp.

They really did have to take it slow, though. The careful negotiation of where Aziraphale's legs could go, and Crowley's arms, and making sure no one was hurting, that Aziraphale's legs were supported and Crowley wasn't putting weight on her arms without thinking. The day's appointment had gone well, and Aziraphale's prognosis was good, and neither of them could be so horny as to put that in jeopardy.

So they eased, and talked, and experimented. Pillows and wedges were rearranged, and soft skin was caressed, playful kisses given on bare skin and colourful casts, and they smiled at each other and lost themselves in kisses. Crowley pressed long kisses to the soft folds of Aziraphale's belly and her thighs. And then, finally, pressed her face between Aziraphale's legs, gentle, gentle.

Easy. Careful. Negotiating. One orgasm, then another, and then it was time to switch. This was a little easier, Crowley kneeling over Aziraphale's mouth, her fiancee's strong arms supporting her hips. So deliciously strong, and her tongue hungry and eager. Slow and gentle, just how Crowley liked it, her body which had had such a hard time of it lately now feeling so, so good.

Aziraphale knew how to draw it out, and it was a long time before an orgasm rippled through her, and she sank down, cuddling now between Aziraphale's legs, head on her chest.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”  
“Even if I'm a tease?” Aziraphale murmured. 

“'Specially then. You know you're gorgeous, right? That your body's perfect?”  
“I know, Crowley. Shhh, even now. I know. No, move your arm – there, is that better? My poor lass, your poor arms. No, no, everyone fusses over me, I need to fuss over you.”

Crowley smiled. “Asha fussed over me.”

“And that's why she's my best friend, after you.” Soft hands stroking her hair, and Crowley was going to fall asleep like this, pillowed on Aziraphale's body. She could feel the rough casts against her own thighs, and sighed deeper. One of her hands was resting just below Aziraphale's pillow, and she could just touch feather-soft ringlets, Aziraphale's pretty hair. Touch, touch, all she needed was touch. Sex was perfect and good, and they had worked very hard and read a lot and talked to a lot of people to make sure they could still have good sex, but oh, this touch, this closeness. This was why she was marrying Aziraphale.

She tried to say some of this, but Aziraphale shushed her sleepy mumble. Well, she could say it in the morning as they helped each other get ready, preparing to tackle the day together.


	24. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gender is hard. But having a friend to talk to about it helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another entry for the AU-being-written that I came up with for whumptober, with stories [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822494/chapters/66668629) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822494/chapters/66772714) (and on day 16: Arrangement, for that matter.) A modern AU, Aziraphale is blind, and Crowley is just very Crowley. Still in the slow-burn stages of their friendship-becoming-relationship. This is probably my favorite thing I've written for this challenge :)

_**Crowley:** Hey Zira? Is it okay if I come over for a bit? It's nothing big if you're busy, I just kinda want some friend time._

_**Aziraphale:** Honey, of course! Are you okay?_

_**Crowley:** Kinda. No. Not that bad. I'm sorry._

_**Aziraphale:** Hush. Come over, I'll feed you tea and cakes, and we'll talk. I like friend time with you. In case you need the reminder._

_**Crowley:** :)_

_**Crowley:** Leaving now, I'll txt when I'm outside._

_**Aziraphale:** Good Crowley. It's going to be okay, honey. Whatever it is, we'll talk through it._

Crowley sent a text as she stood outside the side entrance to the bookshop, the one that went straight to Aziraphale's flat, and tried not to feel too self-conscious. They were  _friends_ . She wasn't pushing too hard. It was okay.

“Come in, dear!” Aziraphale held the door for her – no more plaster or even a boot, but Crowley was still walking with crutches while she got strength back. It had been a long recovery, but the end was fully in sight.

The end of her healing, at least – she and Aziraphale were still slowly ramping up to a relationship, or finding out if they wanted a relationship. They texted most days, and hung out regularly, and hugged and such. They were friends, decidedly so, and that was the best thing ever.

(Crowley was so  _gone_ for her. Aziraphale was just... _awesome_ . As soon as she said the word, Crowley was going to fall like a brick from on high. She was already on the verge of a crush at all times.)

Crowley kept up with Aziraphale to get up the stairs; she might need crutches but she could move at a pretty good clip, and her reward was a warm hug as soon as they were inside the cheerful little flat. “My very dear. Go make yourself comfortable, I'll put the kettle on.” Aziraphale tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Oh, do I need to put the lights on?”

Crowley laughed. “Please? It's really gloomy out, for all that it's just gone two. I know where the light switches are, though, you go handle tea.”

“Deal,” Aziraphale said, turning and moving unerringly towards her kitchen. She was pretty confident as she went through the world, but here in her little domain, she ruled all.

Crowley brightened the dark little flat – it didn't bother Aziraphale, obviously, but all the windows were pretty small and most looked out onto an alley, but for the ones in the bedroom that actually let a bit of fresh air in – and settled down, pleased that she didn't  _need_ to sit and rest. “I'm on the side of the sofa closest to the bookcase,” she called over her shoulder. “Crutches are against the bookcase.”

“And your foot's up on the coffee table, right?” came the yell back.

A pause wherein Crowley was definitely not putting her foot up. “Yes,” she called, and smiled when Aziraphale made a disbelieving sound.

She arrived soon with mugs of tea and a box of madeleines for them to share, plunking down beside Crowley and handing her mug over. “Okay to touch your leg?” she asked.

“Fine, honey,” Crowley said, touched by the request for consent. She smiled when Aziraphale's hand, gentle and warm, slid down her leg and patted her ankle. “It's okay. My PT guy says I'm doing good now.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said, and took a healthy swig of tea. “Now tell me your heart, honey.”

Crowley groaned. “Shit. I'm sorry, it's not...” She sighed. “No, wait, you know what? It is something that's bothering me and actually really hurting me. Thank you for listening. I think you'll really help.”

“God, I love getting you fresh from your therapist,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley, do you need a hug?”

Crowley looked down at her tea. “Please? I didn't really get to hug you back, either.”

Aziraphale laughed and set her tea down. “Tell me when you're good.”

Crowley settled her tea and held out her arms, touching Aziraphale's shoulders, and her friend flowed into the embrace, warm and good-smelling and so, so kind. And really nice to hug back as Aziraphale rubbed her back and didn't let go until Crowley was ready to let go.

“I was having lunch with Hastur and Ligur,” she said, taking her tea up again and sipping. “I don't...like them, Zira.”

“Don't take this the wrong way, but they're kind of assholes,” Aziraphale said. “I mean, it gave me an excuse to meet you, but I don't like them at all.”

Crowley smiled. “Smart. I just. I told them about not being a girl, but being a she, and it was...it's not that it didn't go over well, it's that they didn't  _believe_ me. Hastur told me I was just confused.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Hastur is dumber than a rock. I'm sorry, honey, I know they're your friends, but they're not really good friends.”

“No, you're right.” Crowley sipped her tea. “It just...hurt. Because I _am_ confused, kind of. Figuring it out. I'm not a girl – a woman, I should say. I'm not a femme either, but I like being she/her, so am I non-binary really?”

“Only you can decide that for yourself,” Aziraphale said gently. “Whatever you are, it's perfect for you, Crowley. Your gender is yours. What about words like demi-girl? Or demi-boi, for that matter.”

“I like those better,” Crowley admitted. “I'm sorry, I know this isn't like...I mean, he wasn't being transphobic, exactly.”  
“Yes, he was, actually,” Aziraphale said. “One of the first things you told me was that you're not a woman, and I did just fine with that. Everyone else ought to as well.”

Crowley drank her tea, letting Aziraphale's words was over her a bit. She was...her. Not a woman, not a femme, but not a man, and not a they. She was herself, dapper clothes and sharp haircut and her own style, her own gender.

“I don't think I'll hang out with them again,” Crowley said. “It had kind of just gotten to be a habit, you know? But I don't hate them.”

“That's okay too,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley, I _understand_. Sometimes you just get used to things.” She smiled. “You got used to two people who don't know how to call 999 for their friend with a broken ankle.”

Crowley laughed. “Ugh, I'm going to owe them for that always, aren't I? Damn. But thank you. I feel...less confused now. I still don't have a good word for what I am, but I can live with that.”

“We'll keep talking – I mean, you can always talk with me about this. Or anything. But I'm good with gender,” Aziraphale said confidently. 

Crowley smiled at her, relaxed now on the sofa. “You are. Thank you, really. It sucks – I know labels aren't for everyone, but I wish I had one?”

“That's fair,” Aziraphale said. “Poor honey. Your therapist is okay with stuff like this, right?”

“Uh huh. It's just...I wanted to talk to you,” Crowley admitted. “You make me feel better. It's okay if I'm a little confused around you.”

“Always.” Aziraphale slid her hand along the sofa until she found Crowley's shoulder, and squeezed. 

“How do you perceive gender?” Crowley asked, feeling cozy and curious now. “I mean, you can't see what I'm wearing, or if I've got make-up on and stuff.”

Aziraphale smiled and sipped her tea. “No, dear. I can hear tone and timbre of voice, although I try not to guess too much – it's not like a transwoman with a deep voice isn't a woman, you know. People are getting better about self-identifying, which is pretty sweet for me, actually!”

Crowley giggled. “Oh my God, yeah, of course! If someone's introducing themselves with their pronouns...”

“It doesn't matter what they sound like, or smell like, or how tall they are or whatever,” Aziraphale agreed. “I don't live in some genderless world, of course – it affects me as much as any sighted person.”

“I would think so. You still read and watch films and...absorb culture, and all,” Crowley said. 

“Uh huh. I'm not exempt from performing gender either. I even like make-up. I don't even know what make-up _looks_ like!” Aziraphale complained. “But apparently eyeliner makes my face prettier?”

Crowley burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that's...well, I mean. I don't want to rate prettier, but it tends to make one's eyes stand out, and especially since you have such light-coloured irises, I could see it really highlighting them. Your eyes would glow a bit.”

“Crowley, one of my eyes is nearly _white_ ,” Aziraphale said, exasperated. “There isn't an iris to glow. But I believe you. And, I mean, I like the feel of swishy dresses and nice fabrics and things, and I like the way I'm treated when I wear clothes that look good on me, honestly.”

“As you should,” Crowley said, smiling. “You make a very pretty femme, you know.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale smiled and squeezed Crowley's shoulder again. “Does that answer your question? I perceive gender, but it's easier when someone just tells me. Rather like you, I think.”

“Very much so. And it does, thank you.” Crowley smiled at her, feeling very cozy and relaxed. “How's your day been going, by the way?”

“Wonderfully. Very quiet, really, mostly reading.” Aziraphale leaned over and tapped a stack of papers. “Just got these typed up into Braille – they'll be brilliant for my next paper.”

“That's awesome Zira.” Crowley reached for a madeleine and nibbled, enjoying the sweetness. She didn't really have much of a sweet tooth, but Aziraphale brought it out in her.

“How's being back at work?” Aziraphale asked.

“All right. It's nice to get out of my flat – thanks for letting me come over, by the way, it's awfully fun to be someplace else,” Crowley confessed, and Aziraphale smiled.

“Of course. You're managing the commute okay?”

Crowley shrugged – they were close enough that Aziraphale would feel it. “It's not fun, but it's okay. It was easier with the boot – now everyone just walks into me again.”

Aziraphale made a little  _tch_ sound. “Oh, Crowley...”

“Not enough to hurt, just enough to be annoying,” Crowley comforted. “And everything's better than being in plaster.”

“Hard agree,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “We'll have to go for a walk someplace nice, when you're up for it.”

“Kew Gardens? I know it's touristy, but it's still nice,” Crowley admitted.

“Done.” 

Plans made –  _not_ for a date, not yet, but maybe...the lead-up to a date. They were closer every time they talked, Crowley thought, and Aziraphale was relaxed and sweet and not quite flirtatious, but Crowley thought it might not be bad to offer a date again. She'd wait 'til she was off crutches; that would be three months, really almost four, since they'd met and Aziraphale had gently rejected her amorous advances, and that seemed a good amount of time.

They talked a bit more, through another cup of tea each, until Crowley had to get going, and Aziraphale wanted to get back to reading. She walked Crowley to the top of the stairs and they hugged – only a little awkwardly – and Aziraphale reminded her about the lights.

“Sorry, of course. Ugh, I know you can't even see light, but I need you know that this feels _weird_ ,” Crowley said, flicking the switch and plunging her girlfriend into a deep gloom.

Aziraphale just laughed, and squeezed her shoulder. “I'm not sorry, sighty, get used to it. Be well, Crowley. I mean that. You're allowed to be as confused as you need to be, but the rest of us get to support you and believe you, okay?”

“Okay,” Crowley said. “Thank you. You helped a lot.”

“Good. You can talk to me anytime,” Aziraphale said. “I promise. Text me so I know you got home okay?”

“Will do,” Crowley said, turning to make her careful way down the stairs. Keeping her foot up had helped, and this barely hurt. “Happy reading!”

“Happy laundry!” Aziraphale stayed and listened until Crowley was out the door, and she headed for the tube stop, feeling...better. She felt better, she decided, and smiled. Her friend had helped her feel better. There, that was a blessing. She'd be home soon, and text Aziraphale to tease her for worrying, and it was okay. Her ankle would heal, and she'd ask Aziraphale if she would go on a date, and if she said yes that would be amazing, and if she said no, Crowley would still have her amazing, wise, funny friend. She couldn't lose.


	25. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The promise of someone who would love their scars seems quite distant to Aziraphale and Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my [Castle Terra AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801759), long before they meet.
> 
> cw: mention of major character injury, transphobia, but no detailed descriptions.

Aziraphale sighed softly as the doctor left, and closed her eyes. She hurt, even with all the medicines, she  _hurt_ . Her hip and her leg and her belly were like fire, even with everyone being as gentle as they could. If she ever walked again, she'd limp. They couldn't promise she could bear children safely. She'd live, was about the best they could give her, and in the depths of her mourning heart, she wasn't always certain that was a prize. It hurt so much, and she was scarred now, changed forever, and it was so  _scary_ . 

She didn't remember much about her time in hospital. And then she'd come here, and Madame was nice. Really nice. Aziraphale was learning that people were mostly nice to a fourteen-year-old war refugee with life-changing injuries and no parents.

(Oh, God, she couldn't think about her parents, not right now.)

She figured she was too pathetic to be anything  _but_ nice to, but she tried to be very, very good and very quiet and not complain too much to Madame.

“Hullo, duck.”

She smiled, because it was polite and because Madame kind of inspired it. She  _was_ so kind, genuinely.

“I'm sorry it hurts, duck,” Madame said softly, now stroking Aziraphale's hair. They both liked that. “I'm so sorry. Your poor body, there's so much still to heal.”

“And some things won't,” Aziraphale said softly. “What if I don't walk again? What if my scar is big and ugly?”

“Then we will deal with it,” Madame said firmly. “There's still a place for you in the world, love. And plenty who won't mind about a scar, or anything else.”

Aziraphale smiled a little. “Really?”

“Really. I promise. Someday you'll have a friend, or maybe a lover, and they'll think you're the best thing out there, scar or no scar. They'll love you _and_ your disability, just like they'll love you _and_ that pretty silver hair, and those big eyes.”

Aziraphale giggled softly. “You have a lot of faith in people.”

“I bloody _know_ people, miss. You listen to me.” Madame tapped her nose, and Aziraphale smiled. “Someday you're going to bring me home a girl who thinks you hang the moon, and I won't be surprised in the least.”

Aziraphale just nodded, and closed her eyes. The pain from the exam was easing, and they wouldn't have to change her bandages until tomorrow. She couldn't sit up on her own yet, could hardly do anything for herself, and even getting out of bed was weeks away. But she daydreamed a little, thinking of that someday-girl – or woman – who loved her. She wondered what she'd look like. Tall and slender, Aziraphale liked those girls. Pretty. Very smart. Good jokes. A girl who didn't mind Aziraphale's scars; that part was important, she reckoned. She'd have to be careful of that.

She drifted off, not quite dreaming and not quite daydreaming of that someday girl, all legs and big eyes and pretty hair, maybe curly like Aziraphale's. Kind. And the way she'd love Aziraphale, and Aziraphale's body, no matter what.

Crowley sat on her bed –  _her_ bed! – and touched the coverlet. It was lovely and soft, and she looked up; her view was beautiful. The apartment was beautiful, really. Her home now, where she could be Crowley, and be safe. Welcome. The language was the same, everyone speaking Court Standard, at least. It was just everything else that was incredibly different, from the clothes to the food to the trees and the smell of the laundry soap they used here.

It wasn't that she was homesick, not at all. For one, this was home now, and she was glad and grateful. Auntie and Uncle loved her; they'd taken her in without question – her  _and_ Chae! He was already a great stablehand, and would really grow here, she was sure of it.

She lay down on the bed, curling so she could look out the window at the sunset, and played a little with the fabric of her gown. It was made for her, tailored to her skinny frame, and she did love it. She loved her new corset too, and her hair growing out – Auntie had helped her put it up, to hide how short it still was.

She should be happy. And she wasn't  _not_ happy, not exactly. No one was going to hurt her here, she kept reminding herself. She was safe. She thought it just might take a little bit to actually  _feel_ safe.

Crowley hugged herself, and daydreamed. Safe. Wearing pretty dresses, being a lass. Learning how to princess. Safe. No one hitting her. And then, someday...a girl. A gorgeous girl who loved her, who would hug her the way Crowley was hugging herself. Who would laugh and kiss, and not mind what was between Crowley's legs. Who might...even think she was beautiful? Pretty enough, at least. And they'd hold each other and kiss, and she would stroke Crowley's back and help her keep herself safe. Never hit, never leave scars, never yell, not really. Be gentle.

Crowley smiled, eyes closing so she could better daydream. Tall and curvy. Pretty hair, pretty eyes, smart. She adored smart girls, not being very smart herself. Not too bookish, though; she liked to have fun outside, and a girl she loved would probably like that too, where they could go on rambles or even go riding, she guessed. She was to start learning to ride sidesaddle someday. Kind. She would have to be kind, above all else. Not too sugar-sweet; Crowley liked girls who were quick with a tease. But kind under it all. That had been her problem before, girls who weren't kind. People who weren't kind. That would change.

She hugged herself tighter. What silly dreams she had. But – maybe. Someday.


	26. Massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many centuries in the future, Aziraphale gives Crowley a massage, and thinks on their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon, aro-ace relationship, far future.

“Do you...I mean, if you want to?” Crowley asked. She was sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, skinny body in a compact little package. And her wings out.

“Words, beloved,” Aziraphale said softly. “Can you please try? I don't know exactly what you want.”

“Sorry.” Crowley smiled, and Aziraphale smiled back. She was sat at her vanity, brushing her hair out, the curls now shining waves under the weight of hair that fell to her shoulder blades. “If you feel like it – would you please massage my wings?”

Aziraphale took careful stock. She was the one of them who needed to ramp up to touch more; needed to get used to gentle touches, and voluntary ones. Not that they both weren't pretty wary still.

Five hundred years, since they hadn't had an apocalypse. Generations gone, but they were just about able to ask for hugs. To slowly find comfort from holding one another. It was an eternity, and very fast; six thousand years of being careful took a lot of undoing.

So they asked. About everything. Aziraphale figured they were the only beings in the world who had shared a house for four hundred years, and still checked in before taking the other person's hand. They were very careful, and very gentle, and loved each other very, very much. Aziraphale was better with saying it; Crowley was better with coming home with some new treat, or planting Aziraphale's favourite roses in the garden.

Massage was a new level of intimacy for them – it had only been fifty years. Aziraphale had started it, kind of; they'd gone flying and she'd caught a gust of wind and tweaked something in her right wing. The only thing that had eased it was Crowley patiently, gently, tidying her feathers and massaging the undamaged muscles, helping them to support the sprain while it healed. It had been scary at first, but it felt so good, and Crowley was so gentle. And it wasn't  _Crowley_ that Aziraphale had been afraid of – it had been memories.

“I should like that very much,” Aziraphale said, after checking the thought of burying her fingers in soft black feathers, of smoothing and grooming and rubbing the thick, strong muscle of Crowley's back, and then the thinner, more delicate muscles and tendons that ran through her wings. “Let me put on a wrap, you get comfortable, dearest.”

Crowley grinned and did so, uncurling her body. She was nude, and Aziraphale caught a glimpse of breasts and flat belly and wiry, strong thighs, before Crowley lay down on her belly, curled over a pillow.

Sex was unimaginable, but Aziraphale hoped that, give it a few more centuries, they could perhaps hold one another while they kissed for pleasure. It was a great joy to look forward to.

She slipped on a dressing gown over her nightie – funny, she didn't sleep, but  _did_ approve of having essentially a whole second wardrobe to wear to bed – and knelt by Crowley, hovering her arm above her back. “All right?” she checked in, and Crowley nodded, turning her head so Aziraphale could see her smile.

“Good,” Crowley managed, and oh, Aziraphale was so proud of her. She lost her voice when she was nervous. They both did, sort of, only Aziraphale started talking and couldn't stop until she wept, and Crowley brought her tea and held her hand if she wanted it.

They were so good for each other. That, more than anything, had been the lesson of the last few hundred years. They were  _good_ for each other. 

Aziraphale lowered her hand to cool demon skin, and smiled, pleased at the touch. Pleased she was touching someone she loved, and who loved her back, and that they had only ever touched each other gently. Pleased that she could add a second hand and run her palms over Crowley's back, warming the skin before she began to work the thick muscles. She'd start there, and then work her way carefully over Crowley's wings. The bones there were more delicate than Aziraphale's, and the feathers thicker, and she loved that she knew these differences between them.

Crowley sighed deeply as Aziraphale released a knot of tension, but otherwise she worked in welcome, holy silence, easing them both, the touch nothing but good on this night.

Aziraphale smiled as she massaged Crowley's wings, and so the warm evening slipped away, the two of them enjoying the soft, simple touch, the being together, the loving each other.


	27. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two women, returning home after their wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my [Bike Girls AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997386)! Human, the entire plot is that they are disaster lesbians in love. (Although without the disast this time, just for their wedding!)

Aziraphale paused, just for a moment, just inside the gate to their front garden.  _Theirs_ . Crowley's by virtue of buying the house so many years ago, before they'd even met, and by making it beautiful and full of flowers. Hers because she lived here now, and even before then had helped with the gardening or, when she couldn't do that, had at least helped the gardener, supplying cups of tea and glasses of lemonade and, at the end of the day, glasses of wine. Theirs, because she half-owned the house now, and wholly loved it, and the woman who had bought it.

Theirs, because they were wives now. How funny to think that! They had been married just over six hours, and their little afternoon champagne reception was over and now they were home, and Aziraphale was standing in the garden a married woman. It was summer, and the air was perfumed, and everything was wonderful – the rain had even held off. It had been a bit of a longer engagement than they'd really intended, but that wasn't their fault; they agreed it was worth waiting for their hurts to heal.

(“Of course I'd marry you now,” Aziraphale had said, looking down at herself ruefully, not long after Crowley's proposal, and the aftermath thereof. “Just...well, I'd rather wait?”

“I don't want to marry you if I can't even hug you properly,” Crowley had agreed, twisting so she could rest a hand on Aziraphale's thigh.

So they had waited, until bones healed and limbs grew strong and physical therapy was completed, and a little bit longer to just have fun being engaged and each having a hen do because why not? Then they had to wait a bit longer still; but that's a story for another time. At least they were only banned from Nandos locations in London!)

“Everything all right, angel?” Crowley had caught up to her, and wrapped an arm around Aziraphale's waist, cuddling her close. They had both worn dresses for the wedding itself, Aziraphale in lace and pearls in a classic silhouette, and Crowley in white silk cut tight and modern. She'd changed into a white suit for the reception, while Aziraphale had simply gathered up her train into a bustle, to make it easier to dance together. She felt a bit silly in a dress that required actual structural engineering, but she also felt...special. Beautiful. Even in their everyday front garden.

“Perfect. Everything's perfect.” Aziraphale leaned her head on Crowley's shoulder. “I love you. I'm just...savouring. I'm your wife, now. I'm your wife, standing in our garden. I can't believe it.”

“Believe it,” Crowley advised, turning Aziraphale to kiss her softly. “I love you too. You are _breathtaking_. Come inside, dove, and we'll put our feet up and be married together with a cup of tea.”

Aziraphale giggled and took Crowley's hand. (There would be no carrying anyone over the threshold, neither of them were  _quite_ that ready to tempt fate.) They opened the door and walked through, both of them home, together.


	28. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far, far in the future, the aftermath of the second great war involving Heaven and Hell. Aziraphale and Crowley settle down to a quiet, joyful life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-verse, set far in the future.
> 
> cw: mention of life-changing injuries, some vague description of the aftermath of war.
> 
> (Also a heads-up for a very nsfw/erotica ending!)

_Crowley ran across the battlefield, sword almost forgotten in one hand. She had to be here. She_ had _to. If she was here, there was a chance. Not everyone was dead. Their side, the survivors, had dispersed, were back on Earth. It was just Crowley and Aziraphale, except there was no Aziraphale._

_She had always lit up the world. A beacon. Sometimes an annoying one; the bright gleam of gold and white linen in Rome. The fussy angel in furs and armour in the fens. A column of pale skin and pale silk, parading around the park in 1810. She was always there, always easy to find. Easy to rescue. Crowley had always rescued her, and she'd find her and rescue her again._

_A soft light. Like a candle, that sputtered and flickered in the dark, but which still burned true. Not the warm hearth-fire or the bright, blazing beacon, but soft, tiny candlelight. There, there she was. Sword long given away – again – bloodied and hurt. So badly hurt, half-crushed under something Crowley couldn't even identify anymore, a circle of dead demons and angels about her._

_Aziraphale. Alive. All she needed, and Crowley knelt by her, started to free her recklessly._

_She coughed, bright spots of blood. “Oh, my dear,” she said, voice so weak. “I don't know...”_

“ _Shut up,” Crowley advised. “Shut up, right now. I'm going to make you better.”_

“ _I'm dying,” Aziraphale said. “I'm dying, and you need to know I love you.”_

“ _I know you love me, and that's why I won't let you die. I promise, you will live and you will love the world so much,” Crowley said, her voice harsh and unlovely and unloving. If Aziraphale hated her and her cruelty, that would be all right, if she was alive to hate._

“ _My dear girl.” And then she'd shaken, had a seizure, and was unconscious, the candle flame barely burning in the dark, infinite dark of a world changed, humans and one angel and one demon against the hosts of Heaven and Hell, and Heaven and Hell had lost._

_She was so badly hurt, but she was still alive, and Crowley was still a demon, and could still work miracles, of a sort. For they were of the same stuff – they were the same side, and of the same stuff, and that meant miracles to stanch the blood and stabilize crushed bone and unpierce vital organs. For their bodies could still die, and their souls go – where? Neither of them knew, and best not to find out._

_Reckless miracles, but anything for her angel, anything, just so she might live –!_

“My dearest, you spoil me so,” Aziraphale scolded, laughing, as Crowley presented her with a bouquet of flowers. 

“At last, you've figured out my cunning plan,” Crowley said dryly. She knelt by Aziraphale, looking wild and beautiful. Half her head was shaved, the other half flowing red curls. There were scars on her face and bare arms, and more on her body, covered (for the moment) by her clothes. Aziraphale loved the roses, of course, and took them and cradled the bouquet in her arms, but it was Crowley who made her heart want to explode.

(Metaphorically. It had apparently tried to do that actually at one point, but her demon had saved her life. Again.)

Crowley was smiling up at her, and Aziraphale gently set the roses aside, the better to gather Crowley as close as she could. They were still working out how best to cuddle while Aziraphale had to use a wheelchair, but a simply enormous amount of practice was a great help in working that one out. The battle had taken its toll on them both; Crowley with her scars, and Aziraphale still healing and with her right leg gone below her knee. They were studying prosthetics together, and Crowley was pretty sure she could miracle something up – or they'd pretend to be human for a bit and take advantage of that brilliant ingenuity, at least for the first go-round. It would take time, but they had time.

For they had returned to their quiet life, and glad of it. No longer in the south of England, they'd gone north and north again, far to the north and the west and settled on a distant Scottish island where they could recover in privacy. Winters were long and sere and dark, and the spring with the flowering machair was so beautiful it hurt, and now it was summer with endless days and sweet air off of the ocean. There was a town not so very far away, but for the moment, they liked their privacy and liked that it was just them. Liked the wild seasons, and the feel of time passing.

Crowley kissed Aziraphale again, one hand on her cheek, and Aziraphale laughed, leaning in. “Oh, you are too tempting by half. This won't do at all – come to bed with me, darling?”

Crowley, who had never turned down a little afternoon delight ever in her whole life, of course accepted, running ahead to prepare their bed and – obviously – get all her clothes off. Not that Aziraphale was very far behind – her arms hadn't been badly hurt, and she was quite strong now, and was soon in bed and being very happily stripped down by her demon lover. Pretty dress, lacy underthings, sock and shoe, all removed lovingly but firmly, and their bodies fell together as they kissed, mouths opening to one another.

This was it; this was their future. Whatever they liked, and what they liked was a quiet life lived on the edges. Good food and drink, tea in the afternoon and coffee in the morning, and watching the sun come up over the sea. Crowley slipping two fingers into Aziraphale, her thumb busy on her clit, making her moan and buck her hips up.

“Beauty,” Crowley murmured, in between hungry kisses, but not frantic ones. They had so much time now. To heal and love each other and read and make love; it was wonderful.

“Yes, you are.” Aziraphale was grinning, and ducked her head to press kisses to Crowley's breasts, cupping one softly and suckling the nipple until Crowley had to pause and breathe deeply, and remember how bodies worked.

Aziraphale, minx that she was, wriggled with joy and tried to break Crowley again, but Crowley was determined to win this race and so flipped her lady over onto her belly, the way Aziraphale liked it best and her clever fingers thrust and rubbed and she gently pinned Aziraphale, reaching under her to play with _her_ breasts and kiss the back of her neck until her angel cried out and shook and oh, she was a beacon. She was so bright; no longer that tiny candle flame clinging to life, Crowley could close her eyes when she was in the garden and feel Aziraphale in her library, bright as the morning star. And now, now, it was almost blinding, and they loved each other so much.

Afterwards – after _Aziraphale_ had pinned _Crowley_ down and made her weep with joy – they cuddled together. Aziraphale kissed a particularly nasty scar over Crowley's left breast, and Crowley touched first her short leg then her long one, checking in, but all was well. Everything was wonderful, with the two of them cuddled in post-coital glow, too lazy even to kiss.

Crowley smiled – Aziraphale was healed enough to throw one leg over her hips, and their breasts pressed together. Their life was simple, especially for two beings who could live anywhere or create anything they liked. What they liked was this, though; knitting each other jumpers by a peat fire, perhaps going for a drive and visiting a pub. Coming home to sit in the garden, hold hands. They rarely reminisced, but planned sometimes. Not for far in the future – simply where they might go for lunch next Sunday, or if that walking-path they'd passed looked like something Aziraphale could tackle now, or if it might need more time.

“D'you remember what you promised me?” Aziraphale asked, sloe-eyed and soft. She really, really loved sex, and it had taken a little bit for them to be able to have sex again, and Crowley wondered if she might be making up for lost time. (Crowley was happy to help in this endeavour.)

“Of course. I kept it, didn't I?” Crowley smiled and kissed her throat. Aziraphale was alive, and happy. They were both changed by the second war, as they had been by the first. But they could be joyful, and so they were.

Aziraphale laughed softly. “You did, love. Every day.” She sighed and rolled her hips, not starting anything, just enjoying the friction. “Mmm. Life is so very nice, don't you think? Not just my clit talking there, by the by,” she said, as Crowley started laughing. “I'm so happy.”

“Good. So'm I, angel.” Crowley kissed her, and didn't even promise herself she'd keep Aziraphale contented and safe, help with her healing. What would be the point? She knew they were going to spend their lives entwined no matter what. And that they would love the world, and all the wonders therein.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaah, and we're done! I loved this challenge so, so much <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> [dietraumerei.tumblr.com](https://dietraumerei.tumblr.com/)


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